I have a bad habit of looking up in cities, that’s how you know I’m not from one. A skyline for scale; asphalt fairways for dimension. The world I’m from undulates with the slowness of organic resurrection; glacial landscapes, ancient lakes. It’s an old world that cycles through centuries like breathing. A city beats like the heart of an infant, and rests on the breast of the land.
Skyline
in Short-form