I’ve struggled with a caption for this image for what feels like weeks now, whatever words I aimlessly assign always falling short of conveying this location’s significance to me. Ever since I first visited, it has remained among the most incredible and ethereal locations I’ve ever set foot, a place forgotten by time, hauntingly beautiful yet frustratingly far. If photography is a religion, then this was my church. So it was only natural that upon leaving I felt a strange sense of sadness, as if acknowledging the once-in-a-lifetime nature of that visit. But life has a funny way of bringing you back to the things that matter most, like some sort of magic magnetism pointing your cosmic compass towards your personal north (or South) star. So, two years later, I found myself standing under these same trees, wondering if I’d ever left at all, when a little breeze picked up and knocked my hat to the ground, almost as if the universe was giving me a little nudge to say, “you were always going to come back, weren’t you?” Of course I was...