As they climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the tower, the sons of the widow did not speak.
The clunck click of the bolt being drawn back from heavy set door echoed round the tight circular staircase.
The passageway flooded with the Suns rays illuminating the final path they had to ascend. As though that glimmer of light that shines on the figurative grave.
They exit through the narrow door, reborn a new into the light of the afternoon. Each transect lined up to the correct cardinal points.
They stood on the roof of the tower. A perfect square, more mysterious lines and spherical shapes adawned the corner pinicals.
