The Wind’s Frontier

Above the mountain, the sky opens like a luminous wound. Amidst dense clouds and distant horizons, a procession of figures advances in silence, escorted by motionless horses and flags the wind can barely stir. Barbed-wire fences trace fragile lines, like musical staves upon which the storm composes its music. In the distance, windmills turn slowly—white guardians of a landscape suspended between memory and dream. Everything seems at a standstill: the earth, the travelers, even the light. Only the wind moves on, invisible, telling ancient stories upon the skin of the world.