Threadfall
A single leaf hangs in midair, tethered by something too thin to see. It doesn’t fall. It waits. Its edges are jagged, its surface mottled with decay, but it remains suspended—caught between seasons, between gravity and something else. The background blurs into green and gray, but the leaf is sharp, deliberate, and wrong. It should be on the ground. It should be forgotten. Instead, it hovers like a warning. The thread is not silk. It’s signal. And the forest is changing. The spiders are taking over—quietly, methodically. Their webs stretch between branches like veins, and the leaf is only the first sign. Approach with care. The trees may not be hungry. But the spiders are.
My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.
Threadfall
A single leaf hangs in midair, tethered by something too thin to see. It doesn’t fall. It waits. Its edges are jagged, its surface mottled with decay, but it remains suspended—caught between seasons, between gravity and something else. The background blurs into green and gray, but the leaf is sharp, deliberate, and wrong. It should be on the ground. It should be forgotten. Instead, it hovers like a warning. The thread is not silk. It’s signal. And the forest is changing. The spiders are taking over—quietly, methodically. Their webs stretch between branches like veins, and the leaf is only the first sign. Approach with care. The trees may not be hungry. But the spiders are.
My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.