CALIFORNIASequoia National Park
The forest folds in on itself, thick with shadow and light. A narrow road winds through, barely holding its place among the roots and moss. Overhead, branches gather the sun in pieces. Beneath them, all is still.
Along the edge, a yellow sign stands alone. Its figure is simple mid-stride, mid-thought, maybe even mid-story. Nothing else around it moves. No footfalls. No destination. Just the quiet presence of something placed and left.
In a place where everything belongs, it remains. Human, but not quite. Present, but only in outline.