Morphing Sketch

Before bed, she breaks each charcoal pencil tip to different lengths and sketches a roving wonder drenched in grey Ferns in spirals and curling such become a bloom of hair to hide the eye, the knowing eye which sees but never stays Ribbons of darkness and light are scratched in, in a hurry It's getting late and night waits for no one. Her sketch pad yells out to her from it's many pages: "Hey - Pay attention to ME!! I'm unfinished!" but she stays to the task at hand with ardor. The pages fight her at times, crinkling and pushing her to the edge. She turns on a fan to quiet and confuse them into submission. Then, she lights two candles: one in licorice, the other in melon and flickers the orange life of flame with her fingers. Charred and smoked they sting slightly and she turns her attention back to her work. It will be a completed sketch tonight, she thinks, almost on the verge of dreams, and by tomorrow, it will take life with color, on canvas, complete.