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The blank gray brick wall is dirty and looming and stretching forever.

It blocks off the sweet water, the fresh air, and wondrous life creating a desert on either side.

Beauty rolls off of it like water from a ducks feathers. Art will not stick to it, sweetest music won’t move a single gray brick, and the bricks can’t be touched by nature or science. The wall is too ponderous to begin to remove.

And so more of the flow of creativity and beauty is stifled, neither side reaches the other and both the artist and nature suffer.

All because of the stupid ugly peeling gray wall with it’s stalwart bricks, determined that nothing will exist or thrive so the wall maybe all there is.

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