October 28, 2008
By a. stroud, Zebulon, NC

in my thoughts there is a sort of pretty little stone wall
it’s been there longer than I can
recall and it never really changes except perhaps for
that bit of moss that fell when a beetle scuttled back and hid
or the piebald bits of rocks and pavement and dirt
and twigs and god knows what else collects in
those cracks that scamper around
like a frightened crab or spider or whatnot
spindly limbs throwing shadows at the wind
it was gray day, i do recall, rather blustery but pleasant
for contemplating sunny yesterday
when i first saw her there
or was she a he? i cannot really remember and it doesnt really
matter when i come to think about it
the person was rather small and
blended rather well with the wall a
green slate and a slate green melting together
but i was shaken to see that wall
supporting something though
it never really had a purpose
but there it was busy being a friend
supporting all those tears that darkened the stone
and sent all the little beetles crawling to escape the
deluge and i asked if i could maybe
possibly help
and when the figure lifted its head I
saw something
cheeks and eyes stained like the wall
and learned something
about the friend in all of us
about the wall in all of us
a year later again i passed that way
on a gray blustery day
it had rained i don’t know when
cold puddles lazed around seeping
in the wall in the moss in the rocks and pavement
but there was something wrong
part of the wall had been bitten away
like some portentous spider had come along
and in its stead grew a flower and a
ray of sunlight wherever that came from
a bit beyond the flower
through the mist and wind and
shadows i could see a
hill and a bit of laughter and
other oddities like a tearstained note that read
come follow me
there is a place where there are
no walls

The author's comments:
I wrote this on a whim. I hope you like it.

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