A hillside dissolves into granules and memory – a place neither here nor gone, caught in a breath between winter trees and fading rooftops. The land drifts like a half-spoken story, the houses perched on the edge of silence, the sky whispering in washes of grey.
It is a moment suspended – a threshold where shadows grow their own landscapes and the earth remembers every step taken toward a new home. A quiet echo of a life in transit, a vision shaped by longing, distance, and the soft ache of belonging to more than one world.
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