Life is a succession of paths that fork endlessly until death. (after Jorge Luis Borges, The Garden of Forking Paths)

Scanned in place, at a real fork in the road. The capture is resampled into dust: the points gather where the detail lives, and each one keeps its own color. Then the dust is set in motion, thousands of grains drifting in slow interwoven groups. What remains is the place as sediment: not a photograph, a remainder.