The Weathered Wall

I stare at the dismal grey wall, unrefined— uneven in many spaces. The builder may have been having a bad day. This was not the creation of someone who cared; who took the time to feel the room for what it needed. Rough edges, recesses painted over, as if to cover what all can see. Cracks, from the earth shifting beneath appear as weaknesses within the aged mortar. Present— not critical. Noticed, beyond a doubt, more unskilled hands leave random marks across the surface, making the wall wear its ugliness, so plainly. Few bother to look beneath the strength binding— holding each kiln-fired brick in place. I look at the weathered wall and see me Author’s Note: Navigating the first day of a new job.