I started walking the hard trails about ten years ago. I was young and strong, unmarried, with an independent source of income from my small café and shop on Swotha Road, selling hot coffees and antiquities.

A name doesn’t mean anything. Nevertheless, many people grab hold of their name and use it as a fertiliser to grow things like identity. What is interesting, though, is the soil the fertiliser is applied to, the soul – what makes you a human being.

Broken stonework, sharp edges. I feel them / cutting my cheeks and chest. Maybe / someone took my legs?