A landscape of dusty desolation is beautiful as bare reminder or relic memory of each wonderful thing that no longer dwells there. The broken building brings a nameless frame that haunts this hallowed emptiness like scrub green masks hang dry mist upon the shallow valley. Sparse Somali scene, a momento mori under the infinite emptiness of pale cool blue light.
When people are gone, they seem all the more present. What do you think it is about us that all too often only longs for what is lost once it is gone? Having placed such value in an absence we still fail to fathom that value placed in retrospect is a currency better spent in presence.