The immobility of tree
Our own substance vanishes in the madness of everyday living. We wander about anxiously in search of identity.
The immobility of trees brings us back to ourselves. We dig to put down roots, to find a resting place
made of memories, of white confetti, fragments of insubstantiality.
The immobility of trees brings us back to ourselves. We dig to put down roots, to find a resting place
made of memories, of white confetti, fragments of insubstantiality.
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Beatrice
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