Windmill in jail

I cannot say
why I have an obvious sympathy for old walls and the secrets they bear. I don’t promote the concept of walls as such – cannot see the need for walls in our heads, around our hearts and between pieces of property. Nevertheless I like some specific walls. Maybe I like them not as walls in their function as walls, but in their function as message boards, canvases for tragedies or raiser of question marks.

I found those here in my old home village, on a stroll during my last visit. I wonder who put the windmill into the brick pattern and why. A mill, made to turn and turn some more, cast in stone here. And I wonder whether “W+T” ever got each other. Secrets those walls will never tell.