Posted on April 26, 2021
by Hilda Conkling
Snow-white shawls . . .
Golden faces . . .
Countryside, hillside, wayside people . . .
Selling dew and yellow flour
To make bread
For some city of elves. . . .
by Emily Dickinson
The daisy follows soft the sun,
And when his golden walk is done,
Sits shyly at his feet.
He, waking, finds the flower near.
“Wherefore, marauder, art thou here?”
“Because, sir, love is sweet!”
Posted on November 24, 2020
A little bit of vibrant colour for a grey, November day. I called this Flora for fairly obvious reasons. We had a lot of fun making the model’s hair fly out like that, although I think she was a tad dizzy by the time we’d finished.