I have always liked the desert, there seems to be nothing, an immense space as far as the eye can see, absolute silence... Yet at a certain point the eye gets used to the immensity and unexpected shapes appear.
I try to grasp them and thus discover that that silence is illusory, only because I was not listening. Those shapes, those cracks, give voice to the wind, which seems to come from a distant time. But this surprise seems to come from the dawn of earth, and after clinging to the images and the shapes, I waver, this sound of the wind between the cracks of rock seems a warning to our littleness, and all this poignant beauty turns into questions about our relationship with the planet earth, about our capacity to marvel, and about the risks we run if we do not prepare ourselves to listen.
