Fall afternoon.

The air was cold, the kind that sharpens your senses. I went out back to the garden, grabbed my sketchbook, slipped on some sandals, and started drawing. No plan, no goal. Just the quiet, the air, the sound of branches cracking under weight I didn’t notice. I started with what was in front of me, my own feet. The light hit right. It felt right. There’s something honest in that. No chasing perfection. No forcing anything. Being present, letting my hands move because it makes sense to. The body, the movement, the observation all matter.