Pond Man sits two feet off the ground. Boots set back against the wall he kicks idly, but Wall does not yield. In a moment he will jump down into the soil; take the leap that will confirm the letting go of one side and the beginning of another.

He is ready; Pond Man has been ready for some time; ready to leave but that someone else was keeping him. And so he hesitates, he deliberates, he kicks idly against the wall. But Wall does not respond. “You are all alone in this,” she seems to say, “as I am all alone”.

And so it has come to this: to Pond Man and the wall; Pond Man and Wall. He strokes her flinty surface with his callused thumb and jumps — and the jump seems to take a very long time.