A few months ago, when my homeland was burning in war, I went to a village whose name few people knew. One month. No internet. No news. No shops. Just a few houses, a qanat, and mountains. Every morning I climbed those mountains, not to get anywhere, just because my legs were moving, and that meant I was still here. At night, in complete darkness, I walked for hours and the stars were the only thing I knew were real. That's when I understood, the mountain is not only beautiful. The mountain is also shelter, just like this photo. Not heroism, not escape... just a place to exist that held me while I breathed and chose to survive. It asked nothing of me. It just was. And I learned to just be.