In my mind, the conversations of the Peninsula are all tied to a specific pass, stretch of road, corner of a field. Anonymous topographies to everyone else, but particular and singular in my mind. Every conversation here is fused with the spot of earth I stood upon, the abandoned car I flanked when it happened. And so each time I walk these routes, these same paths, the conversations come back as if from a chorus hidden in the forest.

— Craig Mod, Things Become Other Things, Ch. Language, p. 81-82, 2025