22 March 2020. Goose at the Fountain. Graphite on paper.
Well, his head's a little big--but Goose is a strong young creature, and he needs to display his strength. More extended, too--that slinky-across-the-veld look, like a young lion on the prowl. Cheetah or panther, more like it. Which makes him distinctive--like the black shading at the end of his tail. Tell-tale as well.
It's not really a fountain--rather a terra cotta planter tray set on a nice rectangular stack of old bricks. They've teetered a bit over the years, so there's a plum branch twig inserted underneath, at the far side, to maintain the horizontal. And to balance as well--has to be sturdy enough for the big crows when they fly in. (Quite a ruckus over the fence this morning, higher up in the tree. Domestic issues, no doubt.)
These things all seem to continue. and how not? The world (the earth) being continuous, in its own way. Not that we small creatures understand this perfectly. With our internets and our wars--but every once in a while there's an embrace, a tender touch to the cheek--a smile...
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Towhees, too, and flocks of sparrows. Three in the bathtub all at once. And the chickadee. Oregon Junco, and the mighty jay. Two of them, together sometimes...
Phoebe as well...
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Note: Goose being the neighbor family's cat--Duffy and Carlos and their two young daughters. Goose has claimed the backyard on my side of the fence as part of his domain...
