This small crooked road, unnoticeable at first glance has yet to be traveled...

Figgy Martin rests just ahead, not closed, not hidden but simply not yet. As Figgy's off-beat world gathers itself into being.

Stones wait patiently to be turned, trinkets placed just so...nothing hurried, nothing hastened.

And a goose...standing guard, ensuring nothing arrives before its proper time.

— Twenty-Eighth of June, two-thousand-twenty-six —