Tailings, the remnants of extraction, are often seen as waste, toxic, lifeless, the evidence of what we do to nature. Yet from above, these scars of the earth unfold into patterns of quiet beauty. Even in what seems forsaken, beauty endures, waiting for the eye that chooses to see. Sometimes I think, perhaps nature does not mind what we do. It moves by its own rhythm, with or without us. What truly changes is our place within it. Photography, perhaps, is a way to listen to that rhythm not to take, but to return; not to conquer, but to understand. It is born from the same desire to explore, yet it leads us closer again, to see, to feel, to remember our belonging. The colors of the tailing lakes are not decoration, but the breath of time, where poison and beauty coexist, as all contradictions do.