wall in my mind, higher than I am tall, or can easily reach without jumping. thick, almost oppressive, but dense and solid overall. deeply set into the gently sloping ground there. tan or gray pebbles scattered through sparse short grass and clumping taller strands and loner stalks. covered with some old and some new graffiti, but much has faded or been colored over many times, long forgotten, like all but the fleeting phantom memory of it’s artists, and gone like the grandfather builder, and laborers who constructed it, and the whole supply chain from quarry to this, now. no stranger to the passage of time. a place familiar to many, unknown mostly to one another. overgrown hedges. vines. weeds. a few scrubby flowers. crumbling blocks, aged. moss and lichen are there, and the scents of strange animals. there is a curious mix of humid and a cool breeze. thick, dense clouds hang low and loom so close there seems a fog or mist. the air feels thick and muggy. Instead of seeing my breath, I see a distortion in the aethyr where mine breath airs should be. I can not count to ten. I think the image fades to black, or ebbs into white at the periphery, growing more distant and dim, and into blur, slowly turning and away.