It once reached for the sky, its crown alive with the wind and seasons. Now, only the stump remains—weathered, split, and bathed in the quiet light of the night forest. But even in this form, there’s beauty. The old tree still holds its place, still shapes the land around it, still carries the memory of a thousand storms and summers. It’s a reminder that endings are not erasures. In the wilderness, even what’s left behind has a story to tell.
“EVEN IN SILENCE”
“pine lake CATHEDRAL”
The fire rose like a hymn beneath the ancient pines, sending sparks through the still air of Pine Lake. Every flame painted the trunks in gold, each ember drifting upward as if drawn toward the stars. The night was deep and wordless—only the crackle of wood and the sigh of wind through needles. Out here, surrounded by wilderness and shadow, even a small fire feels like a heartbeat—reminding you that warmth and light still belong to the quiet places.
“THE BURN”
Beneath the cold stars, the forest burns by design.
This fire is no accident, no careless spark leaping wild into the night. It’s deliberate—a chosen blaze, meant to clear away the dead and dying so the living can return. Each fallen branch and hollowed trunk feeds the flames, offering itself to a cycle older than memory.
As the heat rises and smoke curls skyward, the line between destruction and creation blurs. This is not the end of the forest, but a rebirth disguised as ruin. By morning, only ash will remain, scattered like seeds across blackened soil, waiting for rain to call them back to life.
“HARVEST OF GOLD”
The Harvest Moon has long carried a weight of legend—its brilliance said to guide farmers gathering the last crops before frost, and hunters moving under its silver watch. Some traditions called it the Blood Moon, others the Sanguine Moon, a lantern for journeys and endings. In this image, that same pale light spills across a birch tree in late autumn, its crown still clinging to gold. The leaves burn softly against the dark, while the stars scatter above like seed cast into the sky. It is a moment where season, story, and starlight converge—October’s brief fire held in the quiet glow of the Harvest Moon..
“BONES OF WINTER”
After months beneath the weight of snow, the land exhales. The grass, pale and brittle, emerges like the bones of winter—flattened, tangled, and glowing gold under the starlight. Bare trees reach upward, their branches etched against a sky still cold and vast. This fleeting moment, caught between seasons, is a quiet reminder that even in decay, the earth prepares for renewal.