The forest is damp, the sun barely filters through the majestic foliage, the roots are covered with mosses and lichens, and it is there that violets shyly fade.
The clouds, swollen with hope, draw shadows of the werewolf who is waiting for dusk so he can howl his hymn to the moon.
There is a kind of tension between the green, moist notes of the leaves and the rough, wild ones of the flower.
It is intimidating at times, but it is so beautiful to get lost in this forest….