tomprice

The rain storm was moving on, as you gaze from your cracked window. The sky looks wrung out, very pale and worn from the recent show it had put on. The forest is vibrant, greens leaping out, ecstatic with water and sun and life.

She could tell she was still suffering from dimensional sickness, the plants split halfway up, taking on entirely different tones. She shook her head, hopefully it would wear off soon.

The sun caresses your face with warmth as the music drifts lazily up the hill to where you sit. Bare toes wriggle in the grass and the paint is cool on your fingers.

Inspired by my grandmother's work.