Drawings, Snapshots

Love Times Three

Thirty degrees in the early evening.

My pens, every single one of them, have quite literally refused to produce any proper lines on paper. Has the ink gone bad? Gabriela tried cleaning a pen just now, but to no avail. I've got the inkfinger but not a single decent drawing to show for it. I should be frustrated, damning the muse for letting me down. Instead, I look at this picture and I smile:

sharl-ma-grandma

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