Three swans rise almost unseen from a landscape of ivory, sand, mist and gold. At first, you see only movement — layers of colour drifting into one another, light breaking through softness, earth dissolving into sky. And then the swans appear. Almost as though they were there all along.

The swan is a symbol of the soul — of grace, transformation, love and the quiet beauty that comes from becoming who we truly are. Here, there is not one swan but three, moving together. To me, they feel like souls connected by something deeper than place or time.

One leads, another follows close beside it, while the third emerges softly below. They are separate beings, yet they share the same direction. Perhaps they are family. Perhaps they are generations. Perhaps they are simply those rare souls who find one another in life and somehow remain connected, even when their journeys change.

The pale gold surrounding them feels like memory and warmth. The white feels like peace. And the darker markings beneath them suggest the earth — the experiences, struggles and histories from which they have risen. But the swans are becoming lighter as they move upward. They seem to be leaving the heaviness behind.

Where Souls Remember How to Fly is about the invisible bonds between us. About love that does not need to hold tightly in order to remain. About allowing one another to grow, to change and eventually to take flight.

And perhaps the deepest meaning is this: Some souls do not teach us where to go. They simply fly beside us until we remember that we have wings of our own.