The road narrows without warning.
Not in width, but in attention of the details.
You begin to notice what you once ignored- The pause between sounds, the way distance lags when no one is looking. There is a feeling that something has passed through here before, long before you arrived. This land does not align for anyone’s comfort, it endures, as it always has. The dust, and the stories accumulate in the corners, Names have been given to this place, taken away, or forgotten. Indigenous families, artist, grifters, pilgrims, something incomplete, each mistaking arrival for understanding. If your eyes are passing over these words, you have already crossed a line which cannot be marked on a map. What follows does not require belief, it only requires attention. Stay long enough, and the silence will reorganize

Leave too quickly and it will follow you anyway.