March 11, 2017
The woods breathe. Imperceptible, exhale mist, expel dew, form sparkling crystals on the mossy floor. Cracked and jagged limbs dance still to winter’s brittle rhythm. Half imagined faces in the peeling wooden skin, joyful at the glittering of frost. Listless darkness pierced by shafts of low sun, these alone hold up the sky. A movement out of sight, blur of legs and eyes. Timid deer tread soft and invisible while squirrels thunder unconcerned. Hard ground, cold like a threat, a vessel for future life but for now restrain growth. Everything slows to stasis. Sharp edged shattered stumps, broken bones and crooked teeth. Tea stained lace bracken muddied underfoot. Give in for the year, retreat until spring’s reconciliation. Masts without sails envy still clothed firs, waiting for the new wardrobe of summer. Filigreed leaves now morbid decoration. Branches against the sky form intricate chaotic geometry. Hold tight, move forward with conviction, change will come and we will advance into warmth.
I am Bob. This is my blog. It is an outlet and a substitute for real life. It contains my art, photography, illustration and thoughts on mental health (I deal with anxiety on a pretty much constant basis).
Help fund my existence. Buy my stuff (t-shirts, art prints, stock images & graphics)