That thing called hope...

On a Hill Far Away...
Pen and Ink - 9 X11.5



Last Thursday the winds changed. Every year at the changing of the seasons, there is a period of time where the old and new engage in a tug of war. Two years ago it seemed as if Autumn had held off Winter's brittle chill until the very last possible moment. Turns out, Winter had been saving her strength. I thought of that image last week as I went for a run during what would prove to be one of the last warm days of Autumn. It was a day of fatigue and hope, one where I could feel the rope of the seasons slipping through the bleeding skin of my palms, still griping the rope of the past.

And when we finally let go of the rope, our hands bloody and rough, a melancholic euphoria ferments inside our imagination and births hope.

Dreams
Pen and Ink and Brush 9 x 11.5