while it rained outside he sat in the library and stared at the brick wall adjacent to the building. behind the trees, growing orange-red from the onset of fall, he could see the dark coloured bricks defined by rows and columns of white grout.

the more he stared at the bricks the more he came to notice how uneven they were, and how licks of grout remained on the edges of some bricks while not on others.

it was clear that the imperfect craftsmanship of a human hand had been behind the construction of this wall. staring yet closer he thought he could see patterns in the work, a sudden understanding of the hand that had lain row after row. he imagined the good days the worker had experienced, flush with enthusiasm and pride, as well as the tired and bitter days where the bricks were heaped up in near recklessness.

[10/20/03]