Things are alive and dream.
The immobilized circles desire to leap like bubbles into the sky.
The river waters the flower and wishes to be the volume of the mark on the father's skin.
The dust roasts in the light, melts, becomes honey.
The towel flaps, the branches shake. The ladder raises the child and the spheres wait.
We are surrounded by things that dream us and we are not awake.

*This photo-essay consisting of polyptychs was started in 2022 and is ongoing.