I've walked the path many times before and since. It is always calm - baron but teeming with a muddled disquiet of once thought final thoughts. It's a place of peace in which everything resonates chaos to the point you can feel it invade each synapse - Ivy smothering your process. A slow-release maddening hum amplified by the wind sweeping through monstrous, scrawny trees in formation: They held the bodies and winced when their branches broke. Yet still there is a draw to the energy festering there, be it from the asylum at the top of the hill leaking memories of abandoned sons daughters mothers fathers, or from the long submitted acceptance of martyrs who inhaled a sharp cluster of reasons as their last with solidarity.