The Migration of Color

There is a language spoken by the forest that requires no throat, only the patience to watch the branches. We often mistake the stillness of a tree for a lack of ambition, forgetting that it is merely waiting for the right guest to arrive. Sometimes, the leaves decide to take flight, or perhaps the sky decides to descend and perch upon the wood, turning the bark into a living tapestry of sudden, burning light. It is a reminder that what we perceive as static is often just a breath held between two movements. We are all waiting for our own season of color, for the moment when the ordinary wood of our lives is suddenly ignited by something wild and winged. If we stood still long enough, would the world finally trust us enough to land? Or are we too loud, too heavy, too rooted in the expectation of what should be, to ever host such a fleeting, vibrant grace?

Saniar Rahman Rahul has captured this delicate alchemy in his work titled Birds and Trees. It feels as though the forest itself has blossomed into song, does it not?