I don’t exactly remember watching the evolution of the mural on that great big wall outside my house, but I suppose it did change on a month to month basis. I mean, it’s not like I walked by one day and all of the sudden it was painted, all pretty like. It gradually changed from an “ugly, old” graffitied wall to the “beautiful” masterpiece it is today.

The project started in late July. Every day you could walk past to see men and women alike out there applying layer upon layer of white paint to cover the art of vandals. Each day was so hot that when you walked past where they were working, you could nearly smell the sweat. The only day of that month that the painters weren’t slaving away was the day that reached 102 degrees.

By the middle of August they finally began painting non-neutral colors. September brought outlines of figures. All through October the wall kept its workers enslaved, working against the bitter howling wind.

November. Vibrant greens and blues bled from the wall, in stark contrast to the dying foliage around it. It almost seemed as if the wall was sucking the very life from the trees in it’s vacinity, causing the leaves to become dry and brown. The harsh wind ripped these dead leaves from their branches, dragging them against the concrete to create a skittering sound similar to that of mice. Drawing strength from the surrounding life, the wall ushered in winter.

December came and with it the cold and the snow. Ice crept up the bottom of the wall and snow piled on top, leaving behind a frozen snapshot of time. Figures on the wall patiently awaited completion: a fisherman with only one eye, an airplane without wings, a peak-less mountain.

In January, it saw even less attention than December. Snow now piled up against the wall acting as a blanket to combat the frigid weather. No work was completed in February either. The wall did, however, manage to ensnare a few couples on Valentine’s Day.

March heralded the reawakening of the wall. Illustrated birds began to appear in the trees. The snow melted, leaving behind a painted river for the doodled fisherman to cast into. The mountains popped with new colors and a nearby container that read “Tips for Artists” began to once again bubble over with loose coins and crumpled bills.

April announced the beginning of spring. Workers buzzed busily around from one part of the wall to the next, carrying with them their cans of brightly colored nectar. The mural was nearly complete. Dandelions began to peek through the cracks at the bottom of the wall, lending their light and color to the wall in exchange for protection.

By the time May rolled around, there were no longer any workers at the wall. It sat there in solitary, it’s loneliness masked by brightly-colored landscapes and scenes of life and love.

Personally, I think I prefered the graffitti.