Mine, my road, is 73 years long. Has wound through each of the seven continents on this Earth.
At this age I perceive the road's end on a misty horizon, dropping over the pridecoloured-cloudy edge, quietly, like a Greek lateen-rig disappearing hull first, mast last…
Intimations of mortality.
"Ithaca". A wonderful poem by Constantine Cavafy read by Douglas Murray.
