There exists a power, a discipline of shape and form, of shadow and depth. Something other, more than a thought or an idea. A sculpted prose, a rugged identity, an uprising of naked flesh exposed to the elements that bore it. Within this terrain exists a memory and a direction of a course. Awaiting some sojourn traveler to cross over its boundaries, to learn its story, to keep us connected to that which gave us ours.
Image by: Sylvain Caussin