Flora does not describe nature — it observes its persistence beyond the function of life. Matter grows in a state of unconscious continuation, between dust and construction.

There is no division anymore: the organic and the inorganic exchange their form; light becomes tissue, stone becomes the trace of breath. It is not a return, but an echo of the first synchronization. The system operates though no one has turned it on.
The earth replicates itself, using whatever remains.

“Flora” is a record of this process — a place where breathing requires no body, and where what lives and what does not can no longer be told apart.