The wire netting bulging empty where a boulder had fallen loose. Yellow square sign reminding us landslides are not uncommon. Guardrails made entirely of cement, not metal. The ongoing presence of impact. Our proximity to rock. Gravel pits and jack hammers turning rock into road. Landscapes of green and grey suddenly slaughtered with the exposure of mountain side under construction: the bright red assault of progress. Our house at the top. And still. Mountains. The graveyard full of tombstones. Your ancestors, my aunt says. The cemetery full now, just another bed of stones turned loose. Land sliding around, making space for escape.