The beige bricks and the canyon side have the earth in common, yet a journey stands between them.
The East window is sky-blue with scattered clouds simply due to a reflection.
We are full of the sky if we let ourselves be a mirror.
We can build if we allow the rocks within us to be excavated, crushed, stirred, formed into cubes, dried, stacked, aligned, slathered with mortar, and bit by bit we are raised.
What a long journey we have when we choose to be a brick, compared to when we choose to be a window.
There is something rather satisfying though, about baking in the sun. And glass, well it's far too fragile to bear some travels. When the rain comes, it bounces off the glass, running down in like little rivers, where I trace my finger. The brick wall, I hardly notice, as it soaks in the rain as it runs down the gutters into the alley.