Today, October 15, marks the International Day of Rural Women. Those who devote attention to this specific group—often more vulnerable than most—should also consider the images chosen to speak on their behalf. As we know all too well, in our present climate, a message rarely gains traction unless it is accompanied by a winsome figure, a touch of naiveté, something informal and easy to like, or perhaps a striking black‑and‑white photograph—or, at best, a pleasing image in color, graceful and charming. Without such devices, few will look twice.

This principle seems to have guided the choice of the image that illustrates today’s observance. One hopes that its message, modestly hopeful, might reach these women without clamor or haze—clear as a cold dawn in the Sahara. Because together, we may well transform the lives of many. Because they may need us, perhaps, to step beyond cycles of dependence, isolation, and vulnerability in rural landscapes across the world.

The rural environment is small, enclosed. Social expectations and the pressure to conform to local norms can be intense, generating an atmosphere that, though familiar, can also become stifling. In places where everyone knows everyone, conflicts flare over the smallest of grievances; tensions simmer; dissonances of every kind emerge. And just as bitter enmities can arise over a trifling matter, so too can violent, ungovernable affinities—yes, passions—take hold, whether among neighbors, women, men, or any constellation thereof. There is no space here for all possible combinations; you will have to forgive me that omission.

Those who know me are aware that I have spent a lifetime in the field of visual communication. And yes, I might have chosen a different photograph to mark such a day. On a purely formal or sensory level, so much horn and antler pierces the soul and rends the memory. Symbolically, I prefer—as they once said in the nineteenth century—to draw a pious veil over rural souls tormented by the unsettling aromas of a neighbor’s stew.