Is it time itself that we mourn?

Polmaise castle is a pile of stones: little more than rubble in a dense forest.

About this time last year:
We looked at the map.
There was so much that we could not place.
This did not matter.
We sought adventure [on our Sunday off]
We got completely lost amidst the rhoddies and the trees:
In our adventure we came to wonder if both the ‘start’ and the ‘finish’ were some kind of circular?
A walker-by, who told us how he had enjoyed childhood adventure on Gillies Hill, kindly guided us to the rubble of Polmaise castle

Polmaise castle was blown up as I was conceived. Now all that survives is the rubble and the broken doorway. A collapsed doorway just as it fell: accidentally dividing 18 from 65. It occurs to me that these numbers are generally considered as being ‘landmarks’ of human age.

Is it time itself that we mourn from omphalos

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