Beneath the arc of a vintage clock dome (photographed without the glass), a whitened boar jawbone stands like a relic of some forgotten forest altar. Perched delicately on its curve are vibrant yellow Tiger Swallowtail butterflies, their wings spread in suspended flight.
Surrounding them: a gathering of real dried flowers, soft and timeworn, like blooms pressed between the pages of an old storybook. It’s a dreamy fusion of bone, bloom, and butterfly — wild, wondrous, and steeped in the romance of decay and renewal.