The Old Men

One of the favorite grotesques of this forgotten people seems to have been the face of an old man. There are few variations beside something in the expression. Each one I find, I find myself struck differently. The old, wrinkled expression may be subtly laughing at my attempts to uncover the mystery of this people, or condemning me as an interloper, or moments away from tears. Old faces preserved by artists who cannot speak. Here is their only monument, an incomprehensible echo from a past we cannot understand.

I have only questions, no answers. Others, more daring, must provide those.