It's all in ruins

I'm talking about that church, not my life, despite the incredible aptness of that phrase for the ontology of the Crone.

I popped in to see the little oak, who is doing well, the huge sequoia, who also appears hearty, and the spring which still springs.

On which subject, the strange man was interested to hear my story about the woman in the shamanic journey telling me I was "sprung born". In fact, he said that he thought the old woman was probably his grandmother. I did not question whether she was on his father's or his mother's side, just agreed that she may well have been. I passed on this story to my Dutch friend who latched on to "sprung born" and said maybe I was born from a spring. Now that is an intriguing proposition.

Anyway, I wondered around, killing time, and eventually made myself late by photographing bark.