The retaining wall has been there all along and while I looked at it, I never saw it until last week. Something drew me into a deeper connection. (That happens sometimes and I don’t understand it. When it happens, if I am wise and able, I just follow.)
There’s a lot on that wall - imaginary landscapes amid broken and slowly rotting concrete, a record I can’t decipher of changes and the beginning of decline. But there is more. The living record, in color and texture, of this decline says more about timeless walls than imaginary landscapes. This inflexible, solid wall, rigid, is overtaken by slow growing moss, overtaken by its inherent fragility, its inability to accept, much less surrender. And so it cracks.
And still, within that rigidity, we can find a wonder of grace.
Decline is inevitable and indeed as necessary as ascent. Perhaps we can acknowledge the
beauty we’ve found in this common wall and see it as a manifestation of grace, a lesson in how to look and how to judge or whether to judge. It is a lot to put on a wall. Yet it feels right.