The Silence of High Places

I spent this morning trying to organize my bookshelf, pulling out old paperbacks I haven’t touched in years. I found a postcard tucked inside a travel guide, its edges softened by time. It was a picture of a mountain range I’ve never visited, yet looking at it made me feel a strange, quiet ache. We spend so much of our lives convinced that beauty is something we have to travel across oceans to find, or that it only exists in the places we see on postcards. But then I think about the hill behind my childhood home. It wasn’t grand or famous, but in the winter, when the frost settled over the grass, it felt like the center of the universe. We often overlook the majesty in our own backyards because we are too busy looking for something that feels more exotic. Is it possible that the most profound wonders are the ones that have been waiting for us all along, right where we stand?

Ali Berrada has captured this feeling perfectly in his image titled It’s just Oukaimeden. It reminds me that even the most rugged, distant peaks are just another form of home. Does this view make you think of a place you’ve left behind?