Updated: Apr 17
The garden's weeds look to me as if in battle. The beach calls to be walked, to swim in the coldest water I have known.
Acres of forests wait to be played in.
And my easel sits in the middle of it all hungry for graphite and colour.
I've had to slow down. Each piece takes longer now, lasts longer.
But I am loving the rhythm I am finding. Skin as tanned as the soil from all the sunshine and outdoor life. The hours immersed within my garden.
And a few stolen moments in paint.