There is something soothing about ruins. The decaying woods and crumbled stone give one a strange peace of mind. Release. One is suffused with the sense that things are out of our hands now, that our work is done and we can now rest beneath inexorable powers. Rest as the grasses sway, sky cries and the world becomes so cold and warm. All our works crumble, forlorn memories become nonsensical and we forget who and why we were.

The clouds drift overhead and the mind is strangely freed.

The tumbledown of drawing, here resides in the eaves of the day.