In this painting, her red hair
blew in a sudden gust.
The behemoth—sleeping buffalo mountain—
gazed upon her,
her face unseen.
But this is her story.
When the South Pole tilts,
catching the sun’s beam,
people fly toward the light.
That’s when Martina ascends the peak,
against raging northern snow.
There, she discovers mountain goats
grazing on empty twigs.
She finds shelter in a tea house,
fresh wood dropped
by a whirring bird
to warm the cabin
that overlooks six glaciers.
Martina roams in solitude,
running through the wilds.
Darkness falls,
and you can see her eyes dim at night.
She is unbreakable.
The lynx spirit guides her.
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 10:03 PM UTC
In this painting, her red hair
blew in a sudden gust.
The behemoth—sleeping buffalo mountain—
gazed upon her,
her face unseen.
But this is her story.
When the South Pole tilts,
catching the sun’s beam,
people fly toward the light.
That’s when Martina ascends the peak,
against raging northern snow.
There, she discovers mountain goats
grazing on empty twigs.
She finds shelter in a tea house,
fresh wood dropped
by a whirring bird
to warm the cabin
that overlooks six glaciers.
Martina roams in solitude,
running through the wilds.
Darkness falls,
and you can see her eyes dim at night.
She is unbreakable.
The lynx spirit guides her.
