Work Text:
Inspired by these words from Jacobi's work:
"It’s the same feeling that deer must get around old growth trees. Seen and understood by nature of simple existence."

A moment to breathe. A moment to be still.
(See the end of the work for notes.)
Inspired by these words from Jacobi's work:
"It’s the same feeling that deer must get around old growth trees. Seen and understood by nature of simple existence."

Title taken from the fic.
As usual, words fail me when I try to explain how much different works affect me. I'm not sure that pencil sketches are an adequate substitute. The scenery here is from a photo of old-growth forest in Beaver Valley, Ontario. The deer is a whitetail deer. You have no idea how sad I am that dappled deer (fallow, sika) are not found in the wild in Ontario. No freckles!
Trees are hard to draw, but relatively forgiving. Rocks are hard to draw, and have a nasty tendency to look like sponges. Deer are hard to draw. There are legs. At least they don't have hands, I suppose.
Deer also love kudos & comments! Feed the deer! 💙
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