There’s a haunting parallel in the etchings left behind—whether scratched by the visitors into the wood banisters of Illinois’ Starved Rock State Park hiking trails, or carved into a beam above a half-way house room for former inmates. Each name, like “Stiles” or “Brooks,” becomes more than a mark; it’s a last reach for permanence in places built to erase.

Starved Rock’s graffiti made by us ordinary hikers (though I never made my mark and live by “leave no trace” rule myself) may echo the centuries old desperation of those who sheltered and perished in tribal retribution here at Starved Rock — trapped by conflict and landscape, their prematurely-ended lives resisting the silence of erasure.

Brooks’ message, from Shawshank Redemption, is a quiet cry from someone no longer fit for freedom, a soul worn thin by confinement. A very moving film I cannot recommend enough, if you haven’t seen it. Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman at their best.

Both speak to the human urge to say, “I was here,” even when history or society conspires to forget, while indulging its ever-diminishing ability to keep focused, to remember, to honor.