Small places, small voices, small lives. No superheroes here. At most some inconspicuous companion to a hero.

It’s not that the rich and powerful are uninteresting. They would be interesting, if one could observe their real lives. But very few of us can. Observed from the second balcony or in staged photo shoots they are good only for background. When we imagine their lives, we end up running tired motifs from our daydreams.

Whether rural or urban, the places and people most of us know are small ones. Ordinary people getting by, even when caught up in extraordinary circumstances. Not witches with magical gifts, but social misfits who have an unusual growth on their nose and come to be seen as witches by their community.

What really matters in our world anyway? If you are a little bluegill swimming in a pond, the giant squid prowling in the ocean depths is of no consequence to you. What matters is the snapping turtle hidden in the mud.

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