“To hear the
unembodied call of a place, that numinous voice, one has to wait for
it to speak through the harmony of its features – the soughing of
the wind across it, its upward reach against a clear night sky, its
fragrance after a rain. One must wait for the moment when the thin –
the hill, the tarn, the lunette, the kiss tank, the caliche flat, the
bajada – ceases to be a thing and becomes something that knows we
are there.”
- Barry Lopez, in
Home Ground: Language for an American Landscape
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