Sense of direction can be relative. It’s dark when you leave home, you chute underground through tunnels to sit on a jet plane all night, speed around in a car in the dark, wake up in dappled forest light, to ride a boat in a straight line to a surreal land strayed from its mainland.
This rock, those trees, that clearing, the shimmering glow of the water, the smell of the white pines — it calls to you. You’ll find answers there. That sun, those slowly crashing swells, the endless blanket of blue.
The world has this glow, this sway, its like the water but through your eyes standing perfectly still on land. There is not reason, only desire and unobstructed momentum to the places that call to you on this land.
You come alive.
Miles wanders our great land we call America shooting photographs, making drawings, painting signs, writing, and trying to find his way.