The road was the towing ground by which our culture rambled out on. We aren’t as ‘we’ as we used to be. There exists a frayed connection between our sunburned, wind burned, salt water caked faces and our now tightening belts behind the wheels of diesel trucks. The calluses have disappeared. Coffee scents the cup holders. This is not naivety, this is a different form of power and majesty. You are still whole and uninterrupted by the horns, buzzing, spinning, cartwheeling, concrete ways of ‘new’ life.
The human form stretches and surrenders to its surroundings – confounding. Be the tree but not the tower.
Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.