recorded
you find yourself on a staircase. it is narrow, and panelled in a wood that has been varnished many times. the steps are slightly worn at their centres. you have been climbing for what may be a long time. your legs are not tired in the way legs are tired in the day.
each landing has a small window. the window shows the same courtyard. on each new floor a faint number is painted in the corner: 4, 4, 4. you understand, without alarm, that the floor numbers have stopped advancing. the air gets a little cooler. someone has gone up before you; their footstep is half an echo above. you do not catch them.
you reach a landing where the staircase continues both up and down. you cannot remember which one you came from. on the wall a brass plate, polished by hands, gives no inscription. you put your hand on the bannister. the wood is still warm where the climber's hand was. you keep going up because never is simpler than turning. somewhere ahead, the well begins.
recorded on waking · undated