Klj 12012

A line, Maybe a bird traces its way across A canvas of White Stagnate and panning the landscape it becomes enamored by the amount of blank space left From deep within, a glow of Green, blending with yellow and brown hues, begins to wick its way across the feathers of the Bird. It glides close to the ground and encircles the bushes the hues begin to passionately fill them in turning twigs, lightly sketched, in to trees blowing gently in the breeze The bird then glides up toward the breeze catching it, sweeping back across the canvas to wash its wings clean Looking down, a feeling, a muse, causes a glow, near its heart this time filled with violets blues and just a bit of white begins to wick in to its wings over flowing, it begins to flood across and down the rivers, cascading over rocks gently placed by a steady hand Catching another breeze it dips and turns towards the sky allowing the shades of mixed blues to flow gently on to the canvas with each flap of its wings shapely clouds fade in to strings over tree tops giving a once clear sky life the bird begins to dance around the newly formed obstacles slicing tiny details giving movement for the flock to glide through Content with this the bird, the line, or maybe a lost soul, falls in to its place among the sun beams of a perfect day. Soar high, little bird, soar high.