“I open the window to let the fresh air in, to let the breeze penetrate the spaces between my ribs and take the opportunity to cleanse me from within. Sounds erupt from the outside: seagulls crying, horses neighing, and waves crashing wildly against the cliffs. The dog’s howls are drowned out by ships’ horns. For those who live in a big city, these noises might seem like evidence of stillness. Silence, for some, is synonymous with human absence, by which they refer, especially, to the lack of articulated words, the silent of tongues. But on this piece of land, every moment forms part of an instrument. Here, every whisper unfolds into a complex melody that sees you in the front row of an impromptu concert.”
Book:Chilco