Now it’s cold, a fence and then the crater. Is it smoke? Is it fog? It’s scary and charming. I can barely breathe, maybe because of the height, maybe I’m tired. Rest. I’m going down to join him, I’m more healthy than you. Have you ever kissed someone on the edge of the abyss? A reportage by Martine Eshuis.
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A large drop of sun lingered on the horizon and then dripped over and was gone, and the sky was brilliant over the spot where it had gone, and a torn cloud, like a bloody rag, hung over the spot of its going. And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon, and darkness crept over the land from the east. A photographic series by Charlotte Tanguy.