At first glance, they may appear to be simple poplars that, even in their apparent immobility, dance to the inevitable rhythm set by autumn.

The beauty of the moment, however, leaves the doors open for the observer to also be carried away by another melody, no less subjective, such as that of his own sensations.

In contrast, but unlike passing clouds, the tree drinks from an apparent fountain of eternal youth, like the Phoenix, to be reborn from its ashes with the new change of season.

The perfect metaphor, after all, of an immutable Law: matter is neither created nor destroyed, it only transforms.

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