Mass exodus. Mass migration. We scatter frenetically to multiple corners of the earth. We seek peace. We seek distractions. We seek enlightenment. We seek disconnection. Or we seek all of the above—and more—in this brief grace period called "vacation".
It is a time when we give ourselves the license to dream. It is a time to lose ourselves to reverie. We immerse ourselves in the sea. We immerse ourselves in the forest. We immerse ourselves in the imaginary. And if we allow for stillness, we see what was once invisible.
In the northwestern edge of France lies mystic Brittany. It cradles an enchanted forest steeped in dreams and history: Huelgoat. Originally a hunting ground during the Mesolithic period, it then became the land of Armorican Celts, the land of the Dukes of Brittany and, finally, the land of the Kingdom of France in 1532.
To this day, myths and legends passed down through oral tradition from centuries ago impregnate the air of this special place.
Being an integral part of the mythical Brocéliande, the forest of King Arthur, its foliage is home to many legends, from Arthur to Dahut to Tristan and Yseult. The forms of fantastic creatures engraved in the rocks, sculpted into the forest, or dressed in moss, awaken our youthful souls, the part of us that allows us to see forms in the clouds.
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