Writing prompt: “Facade”
I see a wall, in the low sun. It stands tall, a rugged charcoal mass of concrete bricks. Their stack gently tapers high towards the cloudy sky. Great currents of storm clouds pour along overhead as a wind rushes across the land. But the wall does not shake; it does not move.
The joined stones are textured like wrinkled paper, but coarse and solid. They are not cold on this side of the wall, the setting sun lighting and warming them in the autumn day. Each brick up close is a shadowed, gentle mountain range. Jagged but not sharp, nearly polished from decades of wind. Humble bits of dark green moss break up the monotony of dark grey stone all along this seemingly endless facade.
Dry straw weeds shoot straight out at the base, bowing and ducking in the gust. Just as stolid and fixed as the wall. Warm and hard blows the wind, and it is taken. Through the weeds and against the stone all it can do is pass as nothing but empty force.
The great stone wall has been built over time with so much certainty. It is built to last and to impose. Tall and seemingly insurmountable. One cannot even see what lies on the other side. There could be nothing but more stone, more walls of concrete but nothing within.
But there could be life. A rich world, full of life and energy and hope. Whatever the wall hides, it remains unknown.
Walls are protective. But they are also deceptive. An imposing exterior standing taller and stronger than anything within could ever be. They are built with this purpose.
May they never come down.