’86-’96

Set to the relentless rhythm of nature, the home movies shot by my father recount 10 years of life marked by simple memories and everyday moments. But beneath the surface, fragments of another story creep in — Chernobyl, the Exxon Valdez, the Kuwait fires, Dolly the sheep — traces of a fragile world shaped by man. The hill behind our house, with its perpetual birdsong, continues to be the soundtrack that punctuates our lives, reminding us that, in the end, no matter how deep our marks may be, it will always prevail. Despite everything, the hill will always sing.