I was a hunter,
tracking creatures across the land,
methodically following prints,
voices, and signs
until distance allowed me to capture.
I was a predator,
lurking through my lens
until the spirit of the wild
became an object to conquer.
What are you hunting for?
What is it all for?
My ear against the soil.
My head against the mountain.
My heart against the earth.
If you hunt, hunt within yourself.
Feed your own voice.
To belong is to find that place
where you feel best about yourself.
Moss crowns solitude.
Willows whisper spring is dead.
Light sings old songs.
Ice remembers the stillness before fire was found.
Lichen thrives as weavers of silence.
First, I was a hunter.
Now, I’m just a witness.
Photography and words by Mario Dávalos
Edited by Bis Turnor