
I'm one of those people who finds beauty in wrinkles. Not the ones caused from too much sun-bathing or from smoking. I love laugh lines. And an old pair of wrinkled hands holding the hand of a newborn just melts me.
We have these wonderful, weathered trees here that take a beating year after year by the gusting saltwater air as they brace themselves on the cliffs that overlook the ocean. The salt and the sun dry them out, the wind twists and bends them. They stand like sentinals, the elders among the seedlings looking so wise in their wrinkled bodies. I think we still hold the song of our youth in our wrinkled bodies. And I feel the dragon still sings from within the withered tree.
acrylic on canvas with collaged text for Illustration Friday's prompt: wrinkles. Click to enlarge.
We have these wonderful, weathered trees here that take a beating year after year by the gusting saltwater air as they brace themselves on the cliffs that overlook the ocean. The salt and the sun dry them out, the wind twists and bends them. They stand like sentinals, the elders among the seedlings looking so wise in their wrinkled bodies. I think we still hold the song of our youth in our wrinkled bodies. And I feel the dragon still sings from within the withered tree.
acrylic on canvas with collaged text for Illustration Friday's prompt: wrinkles. Click to enlarge.
















































