Out where the maps go quiet, the trees begin to speak.
Joshua trees standing crooked in the desert heat. Bristlecone pines older than our oldest stories. Junipers with trunks like clenched fists, holding their ground through snow and fire.
I went looking for them in the wide silence of the American West. Not to name or tame them, but to listen.
These photographs are not just of trees, but of time, of weather, of place. Of lives lived slowly.