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The medallion was easy to miss. No grandeur, no height. Just a small ring of carved leaves near the base of a corridor wall. And inside it—a deer, mid-step, its flank catching the last breath of the sun.

Everything around it had begun to darken. The vines hung low. The stone smelled of dust and rain. But that circle of light held. Not bright—just enough. The kind of light that feels like memory instead of fire.

I stood with the camera for a long time. Letting the hush arrive. Then, quietly, I exposed the film. I knew the silver would hold it more tenderly than words ever could.

In the studio, I shaped the tones until dusk began to gather again. Gold was added by hand, softly—less an effect, more a remembrance. Something to honour the silence that had come before it.

The deer lifts its hoof
into the last breath of dusk—
no wind,
no sound,
only gold gathering
in the folds
of shadow.


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