Five bare trees stand in water that does not move. Behind them, pale dunes; above them, a painted sky. The water is not rising and it is not receding. It arrived at some point and stayed, and the trees go on standing in it.
Twice within twenty-seven minutes the sun rises and sinks away behind the dunes. It completes the whole movement, and still nothing follows from it. Darkness never comes, and the light never hardens into day. A morning is announced twice, and twice it fails to arrive.
The trees turn slowly on their own axis, each at its own speed. Nothing else happens. Now and then mist drifts in and the horizon dissolves for a while.
The loop has no seam. There is no first sunrise, and there will be no last one.
Rise and Fall is about waiting for something to begin, and about something that has already happened without anyone naming the moment it did. The water is a fact. The light is still a promise. Between the two, the trees keep turning.