The nightingale which from the top of it’s branch, looks down into the river thinks it’s fallen in.
It’s perched at the top of an oak-tree, and yet is scared its going to drown.
-Cyrano De Bergerac
Tree-shadows in river mists
Die like smoke.
High in the air on real branches
Traveller, how often has this faded land
Watched you fade,
How poignant your abandoned hopes
High in tress!
View the exhibition.