There’s a small stretch of countryside I ride through often — open fields, a wide horizon, and a quiet group of trees guarding a little roadside shrine. I never plan to stop here, but somehow I always do.

I’ve photographed this tree in fog, in summer heat, in autumn wind, and in deep winter stillness. I even spent a whole year capturing it across the seasons — the story became my four-seasons study of this very place. And still, every time I return, it surprises me.

A Morning That Asked Me to Stop

The air was cold as I cycled past the fields, each breath carrying that clean winter scent. Frost glimmered on the grass, and the sky slowly gathered its soft pinks and blues. Then I saw it — a thin golden thread of sunrise slipping between the trunks.

That was enough to make me pull over.

This tree changes with the slightest shift in perspective. Take a few steps to one side and the trunks merge into a single shape; move the other way and the branches open, revealing small windows of light. It’s a simple moment, but one that always makes me slow down and look properly.

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A Quiet Scene in Winter Light

The scene already carried its own calm: warm light rising behind cold blue shadows. In processing, I kept things gentle — lifting the darker tones of the tree just enough to show its shape, keeping the sky soft and letting the natural winter colours stay as they were.

Nothing dramatic. Just a quiet moment allowed to stay quiet.

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Why I Keep Coming Back

Returning again and again has changed how I look at places like this. The more time I spend here, the more I notice — the shapes, the shifts in light, the small differences that make familiar landscapes feel new.

Maybe that’s why I always stop. Not for the tree itself, but for the feeling it gives me — a reminder to slow down, breathe, and pay attention.

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A Small Question for You

Do you have a place like this — a tree, a corner of a road, a stretch of trail — that keeps calling you back?
I’d love to hear about it.