Bronze Medal in the category « Alternative / Experimental »

The tangled traces of life rustle and shout for silence.

The splendor has vanished.

There is a breathless regret in the empty mountain valley.

A bare stem after sprout of life reminds me of a mother.

I would ask if the dead wood covered with dried stems is hideous.

with the complexity felt in the shadows and clamor of eternity that extends toward the heavenly high,

I just photographed winter.