I decided to return to the very first place I started my rural exploration six months ago. My wildly pounding heartbeat upon entering the property is still fresh in my memory. So nervous the first time I didn’t even think to turn the door knob to get in the house. Six months later, there I was, the same place, the familiar smell and colours, but this time with more developed perception of time, and even deeper curiosity.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
– Percy Bysshe Shelley
