Hey Bamse, I was just fussing over the grain of this old oak bark, trying to capture every ridge and vein. Do you ever notice how the texture shifts from the trunk down to the roots, almost like a living story?

I love that idea – every crack and knot is like a chapter. Just look at how the light catches that tiny ridge here; it’s like the sun itself is writing in the wood. If you zoom in, you’ll see the old rain stains and the tiny sap streaks – like secrets whispered by the tree. It’s like the bark is a diary you can read only if you pause long enough to feel the texture.