
these trees started as a sad feeling but got touched with a warm fire as I went along

once I partied my face off

dancing topiary

we don’t tell no secrets

kitty tries to hide from the ambient drama

it’s a walking star with a foot on the ground and dressed in sky

clowns are scary

she sat suddenly

The birthing of a storm. The entry to a whelk. the inchoate fog of repressed awareness. Take your pick. Or add your own.

God bless you all whether you like it or not.
Kate Greenough's daily drawings