Stairs always promise something, escape, adventure, death, the unknown. What waits just out of sight past that last step? What lurks below in the gloom that devours the stairs? Moqui steps scratched into soft sandstone, the ruins of some steps leading to a long-gone building, or modernist stairs in a city museum. Stairs are always more than the physical steps. They are a promise of something new. They are an echo of something lost. Who made these, and why? Who has climbed these step before, and why? Stairs invite reflection and wonder. They beckon. I follow.
