I found a place today, where the gate creeps open in the non existent breeze, to allow entrance to the past.

A place of restless stillness.

Of calm air and logging trucks rushing by in a place where the past holds its ground, does not march forward and does not waver.

In the dead quiet you can hear the clamor of stories waiting to be told.

You can find the husband, not forced to choose, buried between two wives.

Six siblings, none of whom lived long enough to meet each other.

The common men with famous names.

If you want to know about life, you have to look at death.

And I want to know, so I enter the gate, will the world to stand still, and listen to the stories being told.