I came upon this scene unexpectedly — a sea of gold stretching wide beneath a soft sky, and there, rising alone, a single dead tree. Weathered. Silent. Beautiful in its solitude.
The canola shimmered like sunlight poured onto the earth, each bloom catching the breeze, alive and full of promise. And yet, amid all that life and colour, the tree stood still — stripped of leaves, yet strong, like a memory the wind couldn’t move.
There was something deeply moving about the contrast. Life and loss. Colour and bone. A quiet reminder that beauty is not always found in perfection, but in presence. In endurance. In the way something stands, even after the seasons have stripped it bare.
Through my lens, I tried to honour both the brilliance of the field and the dignity of the tree. Because sometimes, a single frame can hold the ache of time and the wonder of now — side by side, glowing under the same golden light.
I came upon this scene unexpectedly — a sea of gold stretching wide beneath a soft sky, and there, rising alone, a single dead tree. Weathered. Silent. Beautiful in its solitude.
The canola shimmered like sunlight poured onto the earth, each bloom catching the breeze, alive and full of promise. And yet, amid all that life and colour, the tree stood still — stripped of leaves, yet strong, like a memory the wind couldn’t move.
There was something deeply moving about the contrast. Life and loss. Colour and bone. A quiet reminder that beauty is not always found in perfection, but in presence. In endurance. In the way something stands, even after the seasons have stripped it bare.
Through my lens, I tried to honour both the brilliance of the field and the dignity of the tree. Because sometimes, a single frame can hold the ache of time and the wonder of now — side by side, glowing under the same golden light.