plant life

Inside the maze, there are several ways to go. Giant hedges are all around. One way leads to the garden. The place where the sun provides a certain confidence to the desperate plant life.

The hedges are endless. In order to keep the motivation to get there, think about the park bench that is made of iron, but rusty. A placed to sit. A place to collect thoughts about where those have been and how the path leads there.

Turn the corner. Memory is certain. This is the way. Know it now. Know it for all the confusion that exists in the world now. Find the way, and contribute to the light of knowledge. Know the way and then others will, too.

Next to the bench is a water fountain. Oh that fountain! It's not only made of stone, and creates a lullaby with its forgiving trickle, but the water that flows droplets from it is pure, and blue like scarce topaz glowing in the moon's luminance.

The end is near. The end is the trophy. It has that sound that we knew. The one remembered. The one of the wind through the branches. The one that sets the place for stories to be told, that are only allowed in the confinements of what's been collected: a humble statue, a reassuring bird house and a cobbled stone walkway that only leads to comfort.