Gallery Note They called it The Dance, though no music ever played and no footsteps were heard. Two birds met mid-air, wings lifted in perfect counterpoint, their mirrored forms locked in a moment too precise to be coincidence. Below them, strawberries and blossoms tangled in looping vines, as if the earth itself had rehearsed for this performance. Bees circled like sentinels, not quite part of the rhythm, yet clearly aware of its beat. It was not a courtship, nor a duel—it was something far older, older even than memory. And whatever had begun with that first glance, it had not yet ended. Artist Inspiration So let them whirl, those wings in air,A story stitched too light to wear.You may not see it at first glance...But time itself once learned The Dance. by Paul Reeb Artist
