Walls

In back of the house the garden is enclosed by walls. Old French walls. All natural stone. Two meters high. In places overgrown with ivy, in other places cleared of vegetation. In some places falling apart. But they are there, high and silent and long. One day they may collapse, but until that day they aren't going anywhere. They have been there for more than a hunderd and sixty years, doing what they are supposed to do: being walls. Wonderful walls. They hold back time.