Sinking Down In Its Tranquillity.

Within the realm of a four-walled studio, sensation is ever-present and undulating.

Like a tide, filling the room.

You are sitting on your chair, Feet up trying not to get wet.

The sensation surges around the easel, ripples off of every thought.

Intensifies with the chill of winter, warmth of the sun.

The sound of the rain, the crickets, the wind.

You are watching,

Paintbrush in hand, conversing with the ebb and flow of the tide.

Sinking Down In Its Tranquility.