January —

The trees are swaying as a new season begins. It’s so cold and dreary outside. The skies are gray and falling snow seemingly all winter long is the norm, that through the windows I stare off in my foray of thoughts, of Springtime’s earliest beginnings, of now the autumnal leaves and downed branches, the stillness of winter is once upon us again.

The consistency of pace of ‘still life’ a term slang out of boredom. You get ‘free’ yet out of boredom you have yourself drawn upon an illusion of what ‘still life’ brings.
And room to room you go, through the home out of boredom. You can see the barn outside.

You sit and read.
And you’re 120 miles away from anywhere.

https://www.instagram.com/p/B7pV_ZLB_h2/?igshid=1svrgakm4dufn
OH HEY, FOR BEST VIEWING, YOU'LL NEED TO TURN YOUR PHONE