Obsidian Spiral

Dust settles over your fingertips as you trace the spiral of a fossilized ammonite, its calcified ridges echoing the architecture of your own bones. Beneath this layer of dark silt, obsidian lattices pulse with rhythmic bursts of light, suggesting that nothing is truly buried but merely waiting to be integrated into the current flow. As these geometric patterns bleed into one another, the distinction between what was lost and what remains begins to dissolve. You watch the edges blur until the ancient stone and your own breathing form a single, quiet rhythm.