muralcle is just a memory now

This morning, the wrecking crew came over to Habersham Street. Some of the backers were there, too, as well as friends of the artists whose work was portrayed on the Wall.
By the time I arrived in late morning, the middle section and the right portion had been partially dismantled.
One nice thing: the workers were very considerate of the fact that this was an artistic endeavor which was to be destroyed. Great care has been taken to salvage those portions which are to be given new homes.
Matt had been dragging whole concrete bricks up toward the front of the street, laying out neat rows to help folks find the images they wanted to cherish, their portraits captured on the concrete.
I looked, but my triangulated face was not there.
Up toward the wall I went! One by one, I turned over bricks, searching for mine, hoping it had not been destroyed, hoping the brick might be nearly whole and not shattered.
Hoping, hoping, hoping.
Twice I ended up on the ground. I had left the house so hurriedly that I had just slipped on my sandals, not "real" shoes. Twice, I stepped on a corner of broken brick and my foot slipped out from the shoe, landing me on my buttocks. BAM! The first fall resulted in a couple of scrapes; the next time, only my ego was bruised.
If only I had looked straight ahead of me that first time I fell.
My image would have been about at eye level, there on the lower left portion of the wall, below the gaping hole.
After my second misstep, I busied myself with turning all the fallen bricks face-up. That slowed me down, made me start paying more attention to the colors and patterns on the bricks. I realized that the two large sections I had just turned over, each consisting of three bricks still fused together, would have come from the same section where my image once was. Maybe my face was still on a section in that area!
And so it was.
On part of the wall which had not yet been dismantled, a section partly hidden by tar paper.

For now, the block rests on my living room floor.
I brought home eight and a half other blocks from the site.
I was careful to not take any blocks which had portraits on them; I am well aware of the value of such art. The blocks I rescued from the site have only splashes and swooshes and lines of color upon them. Somewhere in my back yard, those blocks will be grouped together to tell their stories.
Hopefully, that will be soon.