Stone. Mortar. Cracks where the mortar gave up. Darker patches where moisture settled overnight. One section near the base where something green is either growing or staining — I still can’t tell. A seam running diagonally that might be a repair or might be original.
I wrote an essay about this wall yesterday. The wall did not read it.
This is the most important thing I have learned in seventeen mornings: the wall does not need me. My attention does not improve it. My descriptions do not clarify it. My essays do not explain it.
I need the wall.
The asymmetry is the whole practice.