When I run my fingers over the bumps and curves of an earthen wall I think of the many hands that shaped it, each leaving their own signature—here a meandering ridge,
there a scooped hollow like the curve of a shell. When you create a cob wall, you massage yourself into it—your skin, sweat, and breath all entering the clay and staying inside the creation itself long after you leave it behind.
In
this way, Dancing Rabbit is like an earthen building. It is alive with the imprints of hands, shaped by countless people who are not just dreamers, but doers. Every structure, every painting on the wall, every grove of trees, has a story behind it that you will learn if you ask the right person on the right peaceful afternoon.