Why The Tempest

But for the man who watches the leaves trembling in the wind’s breath, the rivers meandering through the meadows, life twisting and turning and swirling through things, men living, doing good and evil, the sea rolling its waves  and the sky with its expanse of lights, and who asks himself why these leaves are there, why the water flows, why life itself is such a terrible torrent plunging towards the boundless ocean of depth in which it will lose itself, why men walk about, labour like ants, why the tempest, why the sky so pure and the earth so foul – these questions lead to a darkness from which there is no way out.
Gustave Flaubert, Memoirs of a Madman

Photograph taken at Hawkchurch, Devon, January 2018.

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