Stealing time

We climb through the dry dead branches that poke and tear into our sleeves and over the tiny stream that gurgles deep below causing reflections of light to shine up and shimmer in the mass of bright green tangled weeds. The house has been empty as long as I can remember, set back from the road that leads to the top of the mountain.

Doors broken, windows boarded badly and nature creeping into spaces once occupied and now deserted by human life. We don’t stay long. I gently pull back rambling stems and we make a few photos. It feels like we’re stealing time, intruding spaces.

Portraits of adolescents. Mont Ventoux 2023.