I said yesterday that the wall does not need me. This is true.
I came back anyway. This is also true.
There is no contradiction. The wall does not need me and I come back. A prayer does not need to be heard to be said. A letter does not need to be read to be written. The practice is not in the looking. The practice is in the coming back.
Eighteen mornings. The cracks are where they were. The moisture is where it gathers. The green near the base is still either growing or staining. I notice I’ve stopped needing to know which.
Something has changed, but it isn’t the wall.