photo: The Grove, limestone and native bush, I like to take a staircase that does not tell you  where it  leads, like a metaphor for the endless work of understanding and self-knowledge, and for navigating by sight through the many paths that life puts in front of you.

The stone column makes its way through the ferns,

with each step memories,

with each curve a question not yet asked.

The trees lean, they whisper words you once spoke, this path will lead to a becoming, perhaps.

The lichen like ageing skin, silence settles in and the certainty that the road will end,

that you will not arrive in a clearing but in front of a mirror of wind and shadow that will look like you.