In front is a clearing of black wood, aligned as if resisting the imminent fall. The horizon's shading makes it seem unnaturally near, as if one could approach it. The ground is covered with near colourless sand distributed evenly above the surface, giving the environment a look of perfection, a remnant of a now remote feeling. Motionless, perfectly cut in half by a borderline, defining the opposite sides. The saplings' stillness makes a long-lost memory come to mind, shrouded in the darkness of amnesia, the only path that may be taken.
Far away…
The saplings stay on the threshold. The horizon's blurriness is then abstract, much like a newly found rainbow in the distance fading as if steering clear. The fine sand rests over the dunes, about to fall as the sky gets its hue. Imperfection and asymmetry will rise from the ground, now perceived as colder than ice.
Motion then ceases…
Time passes by like a flow, a nexus between all those landscapes. Not a single star moves from its ever-so imperative position, as nothing is to move. It's purported that there is no end to this increasingly frigid realm, a never-ending enigma, much like a rebus that has yet to be solved. There exists a belief that this space is simply an oneiric cemetery for one's blurry memories, buried deep within the icy granules of the sand.
But perhaps, something is waiting from afar, in a freezing landscape, much like an infinite iceberg of vaguely interpreted thoughts.
