This is a mundane post where I talk about an odd feeling of insignificance and wonder when pondering the vast variety of bricks observed during my afternoon walk. There were bricks required for the structural integrity of the building and there were bricks that were merely pasted on as a decorative facade. There were painted bricks, formerly painted bricks, and unpainted bricks of various shapes and sizes. There were bricks randomly strewn about in yards. Young bricks and old, aged bricks.
All those bricks are receipts for so much human time and effort, and they just sort of melt into the background of daily life, mostly unnoticed.
Day 112 of 366