Photographer's Note

Another winding staircase from Budapest. The boy was running down as though he had been an apparition, an angel with a shock of golden curly hair in this old, crumbling staircase.

"I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,
Upon the star that marks the hidden pole;
Fix every wandering thought upon
That quarter where all thought is done:
Who can distinguish darkness from the soul?"

--from W.B. Yeats: A Dialogue of Self and Soul

Photo Information
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Additional Photos by Sarolta Gyoker (designsoul) Gold Star Critiquer/Gold Star Workshop Editor/Gold Note Writer [C: 1527 W: 139 N: 3112] (17843)
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