Of Soil and Soul Landscapes from here and elsewhere From hill to plain, the wind remembers. It carries the scent of old stones, the murmur of roots beneath the dust. Every land has its silence a breath between the trees, a tremor beneath the wheat. The earth speaks in colors no tongue can name. Ochres, ashes, greens that sleep in shadow. Each grain of soil holds a memory, a story pressed beneath our wandering feet. And we, fragile travelers, borrow her pulse for a moment. We walk, we touch, we leave no trace only the echo of our gaze folded into her horizon. Tell me, earth of here and elsewhere, when we return to you, will you still remember our names, or only the warmth of our passing?