WHITE CLIFFS

A singular place. A labyrinth of sculpted cliffs, hoodoos, monoliths and passageways. There are no trails, there are no routes. Navigation is possible only through a sense of geometry and endless experiments. A GPS device is worthless. There are no people. There are no footprints, except the ones I left months ago. The only sounds are made by rocks tumbling down the hill as I traverse.

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