Description

Another memory, though not so distant this time. A walk toward a reservoir in a mountain range north of Madrid. A reservoir much visited in preadolescence, when you began to be dissatisfied with the closeness of your own and sought that of others.

The day runs from the white dawn to nearly nightfall, presenting a contrast between the modern architecture of summer visitors, local vernacular houses, and the occasional ruin—without the walk or the time spent at the reservoir ever being diminished by this coexistence.