There are three things extremely hard: steel, a diamond, and to know one’s self.
We descended a long, rutted track, overgrown with ti-tree, into a valley at the base of a towering escarpment. Nestled amongst the underbrush on the banks of a burbling creek, the little handcrafted stone cottage stood askew – abandoned – bereft.
Vines scrambled over tumbling stone walls, rendering the attached water wheel motionless. The air made thick with insect buzz and chiming bird song. Humidity settled damply on my skin.
Ghosts murmured softly, and I turned expecting to see somebody. No one was there. But I could feel their memories like a soft mantle on my consciousness, just beyond reach. We crossed the threshold, into a dimmed hush, compelling me to whisper. Somehow, I felt we were trespassing, treading on the past, stumbling over someone else’s dreams.
Jewelled parrots sat bathing in light spilling through a window at the end of the room, fooling me for a moment. A stained-glass…
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