Searching For- Baby John In- Site

“Sunday. No one came. Baked two loaves. One for the raven, one for myself. The raven ate his. I am saving mine for a visitor. If you are reading this, you are the visitor. The bread is gone, but the oven is still warm if you know how to light it. - Baby John.”

It wasn’t a hut. It was a collapsing —a pile of grey slate and rotted timber, sinking back into the earth. The roof had caved in like a broken spine. A wild rose bush had grown up through the hearth. Searching for- Baby john in-

I found a punchline to a very old, very quiet joke. Baby John wasn’t lost. He was waiting. And seventy years later, someone finally showed up for his bread. “Sunday

That was it. No coordinates. No photo. Just a ghost. One for the raven, one for myself

There is a specific kind of madness that travel breeds. It is the obsession with the phantom. The quest for a place that might not exist, or a person who was never there.

My current madness has a name: .

April 17, 2026 Location: Somewhere between McLeod Ganj and Bir, India