The D.O.W.

watercolor, ink, collage on crinkled masa paper, Sunday Muse Group demo

Now you see her, now you don’t, face melting into foliage, reappearing on the cat, hooka spooking, smouldering and smoking, flickering sun rays and snow flakes.  Her staff is a thousand year old tree wound with the root arms of plants grown over, overgrown, died and grown again like generations of lost and found souls carrying their torches to light our way now.

What have you seen for the past million or so years, old one?

Your DOW [Dangerous Old Woman] has answers to all your questions if you can just find a way to ask.  Of course the trick is to be ready to hear the answers. . .


 

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