Grief holds an intermittent character. It does not get dull; it is not continuance. It is not subjected to time; it is chaotic and fickle. It is as fresh to its subject as it was on the first day, It is an ongoing handling of magic, the ritual of text and endless wandering in memory and time. Across my residential building lies a public park, where I photographed my father during his last week .The park became an image to the inner and private grief, taking on a completely different manner as it manifested itself outwards, to the everyday routine. Through constant and dynamic elements, a tree; a chabad synagogue; a red car; an upper and lower parking and fragments of documentation that has undergone the process of disassembly and reassembly, I have created a new photographic universe, and a presence without a body.