An Illustrated Apology

There are times when I wake, roll over, and find myself facing A Wall.

I sit up and rub my eyes. I blink. I try to re-focus. But it’s still there.

I stand, bend, stretch, stand again. I turn slowly through a 360, looking for a door, a gate, a window.

Nothing.

It’s a monochrome wall, compact, featureless. No cracks, no edges. No way to scale it. No way around it. Nothing in here but me.

I dress inside My Wall, drink some coffee, grab my camera and hit The Road. Perhaps I’ll find an archway, a link to the outside.

Or perhaps not.

Maybe I’ll just drive around taking pictures of The World Outside. Maybe I’ll see some measure of beauty which will heal my soul. Maybe I’ll find a way to understand The Beautiful Hell in which we live.

For some time now, words have failed me. I have the sense that I know something which no one should have to know. It’s like I’m writing an Important Message in the low-tide sands with the side of my foot, trying to communicate with a distant future which will never even know I tried.

For what it’s worth, here are a few images of what I saw today.

I’m sorry. I know there’s work to be done, but sometimes I just can’t do it.

I guess this is just one of those times.