The trees have leaves now. It makes them harder to draw, but I’m not complaining — it’s a small price to pay.
A wreath of tulips, a bike against a tree, tall grass somewhat overgrown, something crawling up my leg, two men lying in the grass commiserating about the price and size of houses, all coalescing into the feeling of summer.
I stare, I write, I draw to etch into reality this time and place of serenity.