Am I verging on an extinction event now, even as i write? Am I stumbling around in an arid desert, malnourished, hollowing out, meaning evaporating and leaking from my now defunct and semi useless consciousness?

Or is there something I can offer, something vital, or am I just laying down a fossil, something to become a curiosity, a historical artefact.

The imagination meets the stone, did I go up, did I want fear and ‘conquest’ no I went sideways and up and down the small rock, I worked on moves, I climbed but in a microcosm of my own making.

In fact I’ve found a new project…sandstone 2km’s from the house, pictured below in warm winter sunshine.