He had climbed the steep Acropolis, seeking Athena Parthenos (the virgin), every time work or pleasure or strange fates called him to Athens. Yet today he paused by the Temple of Dionysis, only about a third of the way up the olive treed slope. One of the several custodians, some in plastic and metal cells, others, like this young lady beneath whatever shade the Gods (and strategic umbrellas) could provide. Something about her effortless attention, seeing all who paused or passed, while seemingly merged into a thick hard back, caught his attention.

She sat, regally, letting the Sun and people and Time flow by, uphill and down, as if none of these really mattered. So he paused too, feeling a strange strained stretch of ages, as if she were more part of the place than the aged, aching stones that reminded him of Ancients' teeth. And then, for a brief moment, he knew. He had found what… who… he had been looking for each time.