The purple haze wafts in on tones of eclectic disgust, from times of happiness long since past. It lecherously spreads itself before my lens, like a wild animal in rut, and whispers: take me, I'm yours. From the shallow depths of the pond, mildew, grain, and scratches, upon the scenery rise. Everything transforms into oblivion, the reeds, thick and sepia, part, as it pushes its way through and forward: a crowned, naked, harbinger of truth, or, possibly, delusion. To be, or not to be. Forever remains the question.