The devil throws up waterfalls as monuments stand witness to a war being overshadowed by its successor. The water flows through ancient valleys as birds with stolen feet and borrowed beaks stare at nothing in particular. Only stone, bronze and the sky manage to outlive the fading memories. Faces, gestures and final words mumbled before departure camouflage themselves to blend in with the changing colors of the sky. Loss becomes a tradition for the forgetful and our shadows become slow death in a world of kaleidoscopic confusion.
