Field Notes from a Wind-Stung Ridge
At first light, I sketched with breath hanging like fog above the page. Juniper resin mingled with coffee steam, and every mark felt borrowed from the hillside’s tough, fragrant persistence.
Field Notes from a Wind-Stung Ridge
One glide cut a new diagonal through the view. I shifted composition mid-stroke, letting the hawk’s path become a sweeping gesture, stitching sky to slope with a single, confident movement.