Pillars of Birch X

The masked figure moves like an unspoken thought, caught between the slender trunks of the birch grove. The wind stirs the coat, but the mask remains still—watching, waiting. The grove is alive with light and movement, yet there is something timeless here as if this moment has always existed and always will.

“A tree is our most intimate contact with nature,” wrote George Nakashima. With their pale, marked skin, the birches hold stories within them, their lines like the pages of an unwritten book. The figure stands among them, neither writing nor reading but listening.

There is an energy here—something unseen yet profoundly felt. The air is thick with early spring, with the promise of change. This is not a scene frozen in time but one on the edge of transformation, a step away from something new.