THE MOUNTAIN’S STORY
The Cliff Prison is an old building on the drop, not a spectacle. Webs hold in the high corners and along the disused stair. The Polar Bear will not go in. The Boy does. The cells are empty and have been for years. A key on a nail does not open the door he tries. It opens a side gate onto the grass above the sea. The webs stay where they are. Nobody pulls them down for a photograph.
Stay: Cliff grass
Tomorrow: The midpoint, and the people who are running it.