There was a wall. It did not look important.
It was built of uncut rocks roughly mortared.
An adult could look right over it, and even a child could climb it.
Where it crossed the roadway, instead of having a gate
it degenerated into mere geometry, a line, an idea of boundary.
But the idea was real.
It was important.
For seven generations there had been
nothing in the world more important than that wall.