Hmm, I think I might know what my next long-term photo project might be...
Windmills always remind me of Miyazaki's Nausicaa, and I still feel kind of proud whenever I see the wind farm off the shore of our beach.
The wind itself is something weirdly magical. So ever-present, yet always invisible. I have to remind myself I only ever feel its effects, and never get to experience it as a Pure Thing, not like a bicycle or a coin. Wind exists, it seems, on a higher level. A noun that is there, yet isn't.
Is the wind we hear in our ears the same as the wind we feel on our faces?