Jagged edges, the tooth is raw, rotting with decay. The spires of rock rise amongst a swelling tide, dark surfaces brood over what may dwell at the bottom. We gather for warmth, yet cower in shelter, we take what is ours when the time has come. This our way, this torch we pass to who may come after. Yet our indifference pales in comparison, to the similarities of symmetry that illuminate our way out of this cave.
– Josh Fleming
Image by: Adamo Toma