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Where the artificial creations of men’s developments are humbled by nature’s own organic cities. How so very characteristically human it is to cower in awe before the timeless grandeur of nature’s wonders.

Isn’t it the popular and common goal to search for the beautiful? We’re obsessed with it - beauty and the way beautiful /nouns/ make us feel. We want to create it, to have it. We seek to replicate that which has already been Created.

Every contradicting facet of ‘beautiful’ - innocent, dangerous, wild, tranquil, symmetrical, special, enigmatic.. etc that inspire awe and wonderment is exactly what we crave to capture.

How many artists have passed through here and tried to capture what they saw? How many paintings, photographs, words, notes? & still we try to describe the indescribable because these scenes leave impressions that are worth memorialising beyond their ephemeral moments.

Yet… I can’t. I delight in arranging the music of words: metrics of sentences, rhythms of syllables, harmonies of style, the euphony of beautifully crafted prose - but I haven’t the words to convey the precise colour of my sentiments, to preserve these impressions beyond a mere laundry list of adjectives.

Once again, I’m caught at how do I words? Is it lame if the answer is that some things need no description?