Certain places speak more than others. Some have older souls than others. Sometimes it feels like you’re discovering somewhere that no one’s ever been before, and sometimes though it is more than obvious that several hundred thousand people or more have traversed these very grounds before you, you still feel new in your own two feet (even if you’re not on the ground upon which you tread). All of these places have stories to tell — some stories were written by the people who found them, some stories were written by the history of the land itself, and some came to be as time kept and keeps moving forward.
And then there are the places that breathe and bend, dance and break, seek and sleep, and live filled by an ancient vitality that saturates the air and seeps in from the sea. These are the winds that whisper more than ambiguities in the whistling wind, their words are clear and direct without need for interpretation.