If I try to imagine the completed task it seems insurmountable. I place one red clay brick into wet mortar, tap a corner that is a little high and then hit the brick in the center with the handle of my trawl to set it into the mortar. I scrape a little of the gray mud off the side of the first brick and then grab another brick. By the fourth brick my total attention is on each brick, each corner is perfect, each space between bricks is the same, nothing exists but the one brick in front of me. Two hours pass before I look back on my work, for a man to take part in such perfection is almost a sin; I’m humbled by my own accomplishment.