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At the edge of Ta Prohm, I found a moment more than a carving. A deer, prancing within a ring of leaves, lifted one hoof into the last golden hush of day. The light didn’t strike it—it arrived like breath.

There was no grandeur. No monument. Just this: a curve, a shadow, a silence that reached back. And in that stillness, something stirred. The deer didn’t move, but dusk bowed to it.

That is what I made the exposure for—not for what could be seen, but for what asked to be remembered.

One silent circle—
a deer dances down the sun,
the stone never blinks.


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