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ArtistIn the mirror, the wind from the south spins, carrying leaves and feathers. The window is blocked. The heart is almost extinguished among the already cold ashes of the moon—the hands are without shelter—as all the trees lying down. In the wind from the desert the needles bend and my hour is past.
A surreal landscape features towering trees framing a desert scene, with a large, reflective orb hovering in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the distant rock formations and sandy ground.