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"When the summer winds blows from the hot dry belly of the nations lost interior, they sometimes carry fire in their punishing breath, smudging large swathes of the landscape black and twisting forests into crazy abstracts of ash white and charcoal . Here, from above, we see a gaggle of crows above a burnt forest, they are as black as the scorched trees below, burnished feathers flickering in the sunlight, their darting movements contrasting with the dead stillness below.
Vast landscapes of beautiful, crisp desolation, a view that both delights the eye, and scars the soul."