Feline's Reverie XVI

Stillness and motion intertwine in the crisp air, the softening ice reflecting the feline figure with dreamlike distortion. There is a playfulness in the posture and solitude that reaches deep into the soul. The scene feels plucked from an unwritten folktale, where woodland spirits and wayfarers meet upon the shore. The trees, silent sentinels, frame the image like pages of an ancient book, their branches murmuring forgotten verses. “Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger,” wrote Borges. Here, too, time flows, but the figure stands, unfazed, in its quiet reverie.