In the foreground, a dense mat of bramble, still green, glossy, and stubborn, knitting the ground together. Rising through it are tall, pale seed heads of hemp-agrimony, now bleached to straw and bowed under their own spent weight. They stand like small, tired fountains.
Behind them, young beech saplings hold on to their copper-brown leaves, marcescent and dry, catching the light and the eye. The leaves are curled and papery. Further back still, the woodland dissolves into a mesh of bare twigs and grey stems, the palette narrowing to browns, greys, and muted greens.
A pausing, not an ending.