Butterfly and Flora

A slender vine extends across the gold—its line bending, pausing, resuming—bearing clusters of pendulous blossoms, softly tinted, as if their color has already begun to recede.

Leaves gather along the branch, some turning inward, some opening outward, their forms held lightly against the surface.

Below, a butterfly rests beneath the line—dark, quiet, almost unnoticed—as if it has arrived too late, or chosen not to disturb what is already passing.

The gold does not illuminate.
It absorbs time, flattening distance,
holding everything in a state between presence and memory.

Nothing moves, yet something has just ended.

Ink and color on gold Xuan paper.