Looks like the dark outside is winning again.
The winter storm is coming, and the clouds are rolling down the window to the night.
Another round between the darkness falling and the moonlight crawling across the starless sky.
It’s how it is sometimes when the fingers move across the keys, something dribbles out, cutout black from surrounding white.
To add something worth reading to this post, how bout a little T.S. Eliot
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
That line echoes around my head when the nights are long and the hours bleak. I like it.
Felt like this post deserved something more than the same old schiele, so here’s one I’d deposited in the depths of my drive that edged towards this post with uncertain eyes..
A gallery opening likened to being impaled by arrows. Sassy.