The ancient oaks on this moorland don't grow straight. I camped at Llyn Cwm Llwch on a winter night and photographed from above—the glacier's perfect circular bowl, the rounded mountains—and at ground level: those trees bent and gnarled, reddish earth exposed, the small tent glowing against dark. Temporal: day to dusk to dawn. The landscape reads as layered: ice carved it, wind sculpts it, time accumulates.
