In the brightness of a snowy moonlit night, the shadow of the towering tree is cast upon the earth. Barren branches reach in every direction, and their shadows dance on the snow in their distorted way.
I gaze out at the snowy canvas and envy the moon. Like God, it casts its light from the heavens, an artist curious to see what mark will be left upon the earth.
Branches wave in the wind, and thus wave on the ground. Who is the artist – the moon or the tree? The snowy canvas reveals only beauty, but hints at the answer.
Art mirrors the artist.
Moon. Tree. Shadow. Tis the divine simulacrum.