Ramblmus

The old fortress

6 January 2019

The cold and uninviting walls of the fortress are standing strong as they have ever been. Unexpectedly, not even the toughest ivy can invade the repelling fortifications. As if the walls actively reject any form of outside life. In a not so desperate attempt to keep any invasion outside indefinitely. Through openings in the walls the outsider can glimpse some sights of the inside. He thinks he can see the shimmering warmth of a hearth. But at this distance he cannot be sure of what he sees. The thickness of the walls and heavily curtained windows are an obvious obstacle. The tension of the archways kept at bay by the cornerstones and the heaviness of the sandstone both weigh on the shoulders of the observer. He knows he can bear that weight with patience and knowing that inside those walls there is, or ought to be, a sparkle of warmth. The outsider believes that his persistence, like the horns of Jericho, will be the downfall of the fortress and surrender of its inhabitant/s. Staying outside most of the time, the outsider is fed morsels of warmth when the heavy curtains are lifted. It is at those times that the outsider forgets he is just an outsider and makes himself believe to be welcome in the fortress. The stubbornness, the coldness and heartlessness of the inhabitants is greatest and ends up seeping to the outside, tainting the walls in a repelling grey. A grey, if it could be tasted, that would be bitter. This nauseating grey tells the outsider to go and never come back.