A rusted excavator rests after the work is done. In the stillness, reflections begin to form—hinting at what can emerge through broken ground, once the water clears.

Each morning the pampas grass catches light, and he returns—an old friend, a quiet spirit, a reminder that love doesn’t vanish, it only changes shape and keeps shining through.

Beneath glass, its tendrils reached and curled, mapping invisible worlds. We called it alien, a marvel—though no one could say what it was becoming.

A jagged gap in a wooden fence reveals a child’s forgotten toys—a glimpse into another world, just out of reach, where innocence still waits for someone to return and play.

A wooden duck rests in ivy, far from water. Once carved for drift and flight, he now keeps quiet watch—half-smiling, as if he knows what it means to already be home.

A simple fire hydrant becames a reflection on time, change, and the quiet beauty found in ordinary, everyday places.