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feet planted in the dirt, the painter sways on the edge of the hill wild ferns curling around his thighs and pollen dusting his collarbone. a canvas, as pale as his wifebeater, is slotted onto the creaking easel. the air is thick with sunshine and it drips from his temple before sliding down his shoulders. birds whistle and swoop, the thrum of the trees behind him hum in appreciation and contentment. the sweet wind is warm on the back of his neck, and he departs with tinges of yellow behind his ear.
0
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 10:12 PM UTC
the landscape painter
feet planted in the dirt, the painter sways on the edge of the hill wild ferns curling around his thighs and pollen dusting his collarbone. a canvas, as pale as his wifebeater, is slotted onto the creaking easel. the air is thick with sunshine and it drips from his temple before sliding down his shoulders. birds whistle and swoop, the thrum of the trees behind him hum in appreciation and contentment. the sweet wind is warm on the back of his neck, and he departs with tinges of yellow behind his ear.
quack
Written by
24/a small island
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 10:12 PM UTC
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