Driving near the river under the tall, elegant redwoods, the dappled sunlight streaks down and plays tricks on my eyes. I begin to anticipate it and suddenly beyond the bend it pops into view: the red wall. The simple things in life bring joy, right? Yes. I haven't memorized all the houses along the road, though by now I recognize and anticipate features in them when I ride past. I look forward to the red wall. I don't remember when it became red, but I must have noticed immediately–how could you not? It isn't a long wall, 100 feet at most, stuccoed with a lone square pillar at one end, as if pointing to the entrance. It isn't connected to anything, nor does it protect a baronial estate, it seems to be what remains of another time. It sits there self confidently in the shade and spo...
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