The grey ocean wall had stood the test of centuries; the moss mute testament to the years it had stood true and valiant against all storms. Its stony facade hid the truth; the only caresses those stony shoulders had ever felt through the long years were of the waves as they broke over its foundations. Neither wind nor storm should be feared, for the wall stood alone, against the elements. Parents sat their offspring on his stony head and laughed as they watched the waters recede against his stony countenance. The blocks that had come together over the years to form the wall had not come from the same source. Some were true, whilst others were broken against the stonemason’s adze. Some were created as the artist mixed mortar and made them fit. But the wall remained solid; he had to protect the village when the north ocean tore into him with the power of a berserker. Ants and small crabs crawled into the breaks and nestled among his strength and his weaknesses, never caring about the