At this time and in this very place there are walls where there were none before. The vines no longer run wild, they are limited in their path; they run climbing up the walls to which they adhere, they fill the canvas that the wall offers them and they do not look as lustrous as they once did. They are brittle, dry, some of them are lifeless. The cracks in the stems betray the passage of time, erosion; dry bark comes off and breaks at the slightest force. Stems that began their journey together have long since parted ways and never crossed paths again. What began as an adventure and an innocent discovery of life, voracious time has turned it into a tortuous path of dry stalks, thick and thin like filaments, which have remained on the path or follow the wall that guides their way without the possibility of breaking away from it. Those branches that left the path imposed by the walls were lost in oblivion and indifference.

  The walls that hold these creepers in place were not there before. They were devised and erected later to mark the limits and maintain the order of where to go without straying from it. Although cracked, eroded by time, without lime, mouldy and damp, they remain standing and, silently and with their firmness, they impose the beginning and end of the path of the branches. The walls have produced shady, cold areas where the sun does not reach. The darkness blinded the idea of freedom. They have shown themselves to be the guides and saviours of other people's lives, guarantors of being oneself, but without losing their tutelage, and have remained the rulers of other people's wills.