The Playground

How many balls have struck this empty goal? It seems enough to bring down the wall behind it. Beyond the wall, I cannot tell whether it is a cemetery or the skeletal remains of buildings—roofless, doorless, stripped to their frames. Whatever lies there offers nothing to rest one's hopes on.

So, I turn back to this side of the wall to look at the vacant ground, the goal without a net, and the marks left by countless balls. I find security in the blue paint of the playground wall and rather than looking straight ahead, I lift my eyes toward the blue sky and the white clouds, and let it remain there.