On such seasons when the leafless branches allow for the lucid view of the horizon, all that you can see is the sky. A little ball of fire, thrown from behind the mason's monsters, climbing the cloud-creepers, invading the silence of the white lands, until it has pierced your soul.
Image: pencil and pastel on paper, by self, a view of the morning sun in snow clad Budapest, painted on 17.12.2009.
3 comments:
your feeling has been picturised beautifully sanchita
Very nice sky colors!
Thank you Arijit :)
Thanks ma :)
@Shiuli: thank you :)
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