sangue dos nosos devanceiros,
espallada no campo a coitelo,
os seus ollos ben cheos de bágoas,
entendendo que morreron para nada.
os espiritos xa non están con nós,
esquecimos a nosas nais e pais,
camiñaban cos pes espidos na herba,
posuidores da vella sabedoria.
Soterrados Baixo as Pedras by Sangre de Muerdago
Photo: Serra da Estrela, 2018
In my biology class, we’d talked about the definition of life: to be classified as a living creature, a thing needs to eat, breathe, reproduce, and grow. (…) Fire, by that definition, is vibrantly alive. It eats everything from wood to flesh, excreting the waste as ash, and it breathes air just like a human, taking in oxygen and emitting carbon. Fire grows, and as it spreads, it creates new fires that spread out and make new fires of their own. Fire drinks gasoline and excretes cinders, it fights for territory, it loves and hates. Sometimes when I watch people trudging through their daily routines, I think that fire is more alive than we are–brighter, hotter, more sure of itself and where it wants to go. Fire doesn’t settle; fire doesn’t tolerate; fire doesn’t ‘get by.’
Photo: Calvão, 2017
Songs of our Ancestors
The songs of our ancestors are also the songs of our children.
Photo: Self-portrait, 2016
We’re all the same people
In the 40,000 year time scale we’re all the same people. We’re all equally primitive, give or take two or three thousand years here or a hundred years there.
Photo: Kierikkikeskus, Finland, 2018
But the trees seemed to know me. They whispered among themselves and beckoned me nearer. And looking around, I noticed the other small trees and wild plants and grasses had sprung up under the protection of the trees we had placed there. The trees had multiplied! They were moving. In one small corner of the world, Grandfather’s dream was coming true and the trees were moving again.
Model: Claudio Piedade, 2017