Between the Trees, the Unseen
The forest holds its breath. Morning fog clings to the undergrowth like a held memory, softening the sharpness of the branches. No wind disturbs this pause—just the quiet sound of wet soil underfoot and the occasional drip of condensation finding gravity. This is a moment before awakening, before names and noise.
Captured in black and white, the image flattens time and amplifies feeling. The photograph doesn’t offer a clear path—only the illusion of one, lost among repeating trees and vanishing light. It’s a study in presence, in the tension between concealment and emergence, where the eye must wander before it can truly see.