20th March 1671

I reach an attic through damp peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpets, the daylight through a small window greets me like a friend. An old lady with black swollen fingers and hair of cobwebs sits in the corner chanting the words 'Seek wolves and they shall find you' I have not lost my task, I have not lost my way, I pick leaves to fashion a coat of nature and break out into stars, all is familiar and broken and forgotten in time. I am a wall of strength and my time is not yet at an end.