Everything in it is still arriving.
A figure in black, patterned all over like a body that never settled on one colour, standing in a field of opium poppies under a sky gone yellow. The pods hold themselves up on thin stems, crowns turned to the light. The clouds barely move. The light does — one slow swell per loop, across the whole plate, warming the yellows and then letting the shadows back down towards black. Nothing in the frame holds still for the four seconds it takes to come back around.
The field is the dose. The loop is how you take it.