Faces, cracked and worn by centuries of wind and water, stare down at us as we step around moss covered stones and the tree roots slowly, but surely, climbing over the old walls. Nature has already reclaimed so many of the stones, once elegantly carved and placed with such care in rows to make walls, rooms, arches, elaborate structures we can only imagine today. The heat slows our walking, helping us to appreciate those detailed designs still visible. Dancing figures, praying worshipers, peaceful gods, fanciful vegetation, lines meant solely for beauty are still there, under the moss and I can’t help but wonder about the people who carved them. How long did it take to make such carvings? How did they learn? Who were they? As we wander the halls that are still intact, pause in the archways, rest in the courtyards, I find myself thinking about the people who once lived and prayed in these spaces. Who were they? What did they think of these temples? Such a wonder this place is to behold today that I can hardly imagine the awe it inspired in its fullest glory.