Understories

For three years I have been photographing amidst the undergrowth of a decaying Beech tree, trying to understand the unknowable and make sense of the existential dread I felt while my father waited for life-saving surgery. Visiting the tree and its clearing became a solitary ritual. I have grown to know it like a loved one.

I tamped down the soft mulch at your feet and put a ladder up against your trunk. I wanted to see what you see. I climbed as high as I dared but I barely reached the stump of your lowest limb. There was a black hole part way up your trunk. I stuck my hand inside and felt how fragile you are.