~ not a mound, but six planks of wood ~
In the moss-laden woodlands there is a child that rests at the bank of a stream. With narrowed eyes they behold the sunlit glen. Their chest heaves in a gasping plea for air. Before the child lies a corner of rock, jutting out from the shallows of the water, wherefrom a scattering of stones strewn behind it suggests a path across. The base of the rock cannot be seen, and yet—there is no other way but forward. When determination resolves to action, the child leans slowly out over the water, testing with their toes the conjectural rock chosen to hold that first step. In the tree canopy above, a bird sings its song. After a final breath, the child allows their weight to fall into the stone, knowing that no fact or deed of this world has ever been more sure than this fragile, tenuous moment.
— yoav golan