Out walking the other day I came upon a 20-foot-long fragment of wall: massive stone blocks cut approximately 30 inches square. They were narrowly strewn.
The block’s whiteness and shape reminded me of a giant’s cast dice. No pips on each square face? No problem. The apt image endured.
Scattered about the scene were inconsequential stones formerly chambered between the cosmic blocks to maintain their balance, cohesion and hopeful permanence.
This was no tumbled-down Robert Frost wall in need of mending. There were not two sides to induce, yet separate, good neighbors, no insignificant loaves or balls able to be lifted, tilted, balanced.
Rather it was a one-sided, four-foot-tall dike tasked not to withstand the pounding and restless washing of waters, but instead to restrain the glacial, yet unabating tide of earth from inundating a dead-end country road.
Considering the inevitable pace of the cresting and the lane’s irrelevance, it will neither be awash in my lifetime, nor in countless generations yet to be imagined.