“At that time, I often thought that if I had had to live in the trunk of a dead tree, with nothing to do but look up at the sky flowing overhead, little by little I would have gotten used to it.”

(Albert Camus)

I am walking through the ghost forest. Dead pines struck by lightning. Heavy sky.

Clouds passing by, completely indifferent to what happens below. The sun comes out now and then, quickly brushing the desolate landscape. It’s windy and the rain is never far away.

But I like it. I like this rough but honest way of facing the elements. There’s no hiding here – not from the elements and not from yourself. It’s not comfortable but it’s real.

These torn branches, these tortured shapes, these bare bones dancing their macabre dance across the fields. They remind me of the people of Pompeii, caught by the lava while trying to flee the volcanic eruption.