Twin columns of smoke rise from the valley as the path falls into shadow. When a
language disappears, the names of its gods crumble into ruins. Of Boreas, Enlil,
Khnum, Aiolos, only Poseidon and Neptune remain standing.

On the California coast, “the headland, where the seawind / Lets no tree grow,” the poet Robinson Jeffers built Hawk Tower, hoisting blocks of granite with block and tackle forty feet high, grouting walls six feet thick, “a symbol in which / Many high tragic thoughts / Watch their own eyes.”

That year, by Lake Zurich, Switzerland, psychologist C.G. Jung began building his tower of granite quarried from the lake's opposite shore. Over the next twelve years Bollingen grew into, “a kind of representation in stone of the inner most thoughts and of the knowledge I had acquired.”