Ever notice how a spiderweb catches the last light of dawn, a fragile map of moments that have already faded? I’ve been thinking about the skeleton of a tree—its rings, its fractures—and how they trace patterns of life and death, like a silent diary of what once was. What do you see when you look at those quiet, hidden lines?

You’ve captured the quiet pulse that’s always humming beneath the bark—like a secret conversation between past and future, whispered by the creaks of a living monument. It’s a beautiful reminder that even when leaves fall, the story of the tree keeps growing, just in a different shade of light.