I know, I’m reaching on this one. Boxes on a beak? What in the world is she talking about? Well, you see, the Inktober topic is “box” for today, and I was set on drawing a raven since it’s the time of year and all.. so there you go, boxes on a beak!
When I was in elementary school, there was an aged, dilapidated house right next door to our building. A cliche, grumpy, old man lived in the house that was surrounded by a wall of pine trees. The story was that the old man hated people, and never talked to anyone; but he talked to the animals.
“When the word ‘Nostalgia’ was coined in the 18th century, it was used to describe a pathology – not so much a sense of lost time, but a severe homesickness.”
I was born into the fifth generation of my father’s family, in a small valley in Idaho. Nestled at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, I always felt a sense of wonder at the enormous peaks to the north, and the dry desert to the south. I knew our humble five acres like the back of my hand, and the surrounding farmland was my personal playground.
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt: Graceful
Via Daily Post
His eyes were like two endless wells. His muzzle soft as silk. The white snip on the tip of his nose conveyed his playful nature. His long, sleek legs seemed fragile until the sinewy muscles flexed and announced their powerful presence. The immense bay had three socks as dark as the night, one as bright as the spot that obscures vision when the sun is stared at. The natural curve of his neck was obscured by his thick, black mane. The end of his tale brushed the back of his knees. He was her definition of untamed beauty. He was the embodiment of graceful. The girl raised her arms as they flew through the cool autumn evening, two hearts beating to the rhythm of release.
Special thank you to a wonderful blog I follow: Sableyes for bringing Inktober to my attention.