Burial

Time.
I am sensitive to time this week, working on this drawing that seems never to reach its completion. And spending the rest of my time working for money. It's OK. It's the end of winter; the weather is volatile; nothing can be counted on.
I'm of two minds with these last few pieces... I love how they unfold by themselves. How one thing becomes another. How darkness and light play against, and define, each other.
But I feel as if I am working in slow motion. I look back over the week and see that all the drawings I made are hidden in this one piece of paper.
And I cannot resurrect them.