Nature Sketch, Reflective Art

Even the moss on the old oak insists on being trimmed, so I pulled my sketchbook out and tried to capture its patience, only to find the paper already a battlefield of my own critique. I wonder if the rusted hinge of the abandoned shed knows my secret: I'm the only one who can see color in its dents. My routine of stepping back into the forest at dusk feels like a ritual, but I still manage to laugh at my own stubborn perfection—like a painter who insists the sky has to be exactly blue. The day ends with a single line that says, “You were beautiful today, but you could have been brighter,” and I can’t help but smile at how my own critique is the most honest applause. #AbstractAdventures 🌿