The air holds a sense of melancholy, as if nature itself is whispering through the leaves. There’s a magic that doesn’t try to impress, only to exist — quiet and complete. Every sound — a rustle, a distant howl, a splash — becomes part of an ancient rhythm. In the heart of the wild, a silent stag appearing through the mist unfolds like a secret ceremony kept from the world. To walk here is not to travel, but to return — as if some hidden part of you always lived in this place.

Excited to tackle challenges and make a lasting impact through my work.

The cupboard keeps one bowl facing outward.

A spider web glistens where her hands once worked.

I don’t create for applause — I create for meaning.

The window swells with yesterday’s rain.