On a windswept plain between two insignificant villages in New Mexico stand lines of magnificent radio telescopes. With only the company of a handful of engineers and operators, as well as some free-spirited antelope and coyotes, these sentinels rotate in tandem to listen to the breathing of an awesome universe and to map the distant reaches of space.
It’s quiet there, except for the intermittent purring of the motors turning the telescopes. Slow, almost imperceptible movements, like a slow, sultry tango or fluid corps de ballet.
Magic and beauty, sometimes where you don’t expect it.
