Panahbarkhoda Rezaee

Sun shines on pinion trees. Pinions are dancing in movement. The woman remembers that she got married by these pinions to his husband. In those days pinions were sapling. The woman talked with her man, ran childish, she fell in love with him. Her man planted these trees. One of the trees is going to dry.

The solitary existence of three sisters living in the traditional central western region of Iran, where the occasional traveling salesman serves as a distraction from the general monotony.