Autumn Morning

by Igor Zenin

Fallen leaves drift at the edge of a swamp gone soft with fog, lily pads and reeds breaking the surface of water that's barely distinguishable from the mist hanging over it. It's the kind of morning that swallows the tree line whole and gives it back blurred, more suggestion than shape. Autumn doesn't announce itself here — it just quietly rearranges the light until everything looks like a memory of the scene rather than the scene itself.