When the hot summer sun rises to a mere 50 feet over the ground in August, my body is drawn to the air conditioning like a moth to flame. Having done this for too too long, the yard is reaching (what we in the biz like to call) meadow status. As I attempted to cut the grass, I found that the shaggedy greenery had taken on a mind of its own and wasn't about to sit idly by and be mowed.
Ink and colored pencil on Mi-Teintes pastel paper, 8" x 10"
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