branch

Imagine a tree with silver branches. Climbing to the very top, with a view of fields and hills, you twist off the most slender twig and descend.

So begins Branch.

Bound or unbound, curling or straight, Branch does not tell stories so much as it asks for them. Where am I from? Were the clouds full of rain when you climbed through the green, were the cows munching grass on the hills?

Silver branches, frozen. While one life has slipped away, others testify to seasons still imminent, trees that have yet to be dreamed.