BearingsYou are my dear compass,who knows no way but true,so when I'm lost and drifting,I find myself in you.Yet when I ask you, fearful,if I should set you free,imagine my surprise to hearyou take your north from me.

The space reminded me of the small hay-bale clubhouses and scrap-wood tree forts that my brothers and I had made as kids - high up spaces where you could see things differently, where you could get your bearings.