The sky burns with a fierce, unapologetic glow, layered in oranges and molten gold, as if the sun has spilled itself across the evening. Against this blaze, the land darkens into quiet silhouettes—hills rolling low and steady, holding the heat without protest. At the centre, the tree rises like a scorched memory, its trunk thick with shadow, its crown uneven and alive. Long, blackened forms stretch upward from it, fragile and defiant, as though the earth itself were reaching back toward the light.
Nothing here is gentle, yet nothing feels cruel. The colours pulse with intensity, humming with the aftertaste of fire and long days. The tree does not soften itself for the sky; it stands firm, shaped by survival, outlined by contrast. This is a moment caught between blaze and nightfall, where endurance is written in silhouette, and the land speaks in heat, shadow, and the stubborn will to remain standing as the light slowly fades.
Brisbane