It is November 2019. It is windless and the cold fog creates a mystical view over the meadow where I am still. The small droplets of water hang happily in the air and watch as I gaze at them with an empty look. “What is he looking at?” you hear them thinking.
Well, what is he looking at that fresh November morning?
This is the big question in my own work where it was about drawing an eye. Eventually it became a drawing with a question. Funny, seeing as I don't know what she's looking at myself. I know he was cold...
What do you think? Mysticism, too vague or...?