The Amorphic Season XII

In the final frame, the light itself feels sentient. It moves gently across the lake, wraps the trees, and settles into the leaves like remembrance taking root. The glass, both solid and fluid, mirrors the nature of time—holding, releasing, transforming. This is more than fine art photography; it is philosophy in image form. To see through the amorphic season is to see with compassion—to accept that nothing is fixed, yet everything endures in light.