The dead christmas tree was lying out in the street covered with a picturesque dusting of snow. All the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future have now fled, along with the soul of a crushed Element and all the "traditional" motifs none of which are part of our present life. You haven't ridden in a one-horse sleigh and neither have I. (If you actually have ridden in a one-horse sleigh, then that's kinda cool.) People don't have to treat each other nicely any more, we can get back to our profanities and insults on Facebook, which is not a Christmas carol about a baby lying tenderly in its crib. Soon enough we'll be seeing that damn groundhog, whose shadow darkens my path, and I'm feeling cold anyway.
Black ink and white-out on sketchbook page, 3" x 2 1/2", January 19, 2018.
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