by Moston Brook
As he grew older, he perfected the ability of staring back at his own footsteps, retracing them, and then taking them afresh with new assurance. Then he would examine the steps he had taken in getting back to the footsteps and perform the exact same ritual, repeating the process with those footsteps, and so on ad infinitum until the whole arrangement became almost impossibly complex. But to him it was just like breathing; his mind was often occupied on something else entirely. So all in all, all things told and considered, the lay observer might conclude that he achieved very little, or at least that the key to his endeavours remained obscure.
Moston Brook is a tributary of the Irk.