@Jenny Landis I took inspiration from the eagle emerging from your blank page and wrote this poem 🙏 The page is a wasteland, white and stark, A canvas of silence before the first mark. My hand makes a ghost, a tremor of grey, A hesitant promise to show the way. A curve for the shoulder, a slash for the beak, A shape that is silent, yet starting to speak. A line for the wing, a powerful sweep, An outline of promise, a secret to keep. And the tail feathers spread, a fan in the air, A sketch of a spirit, a ghost in a prayer. A curve of the neck, a shadow for an eye, A form on the paper, beginning to fly. Then the brush finds the water, the colour awakes, A wash of pure azure for heaven's own lakes. It bleeds on the paper, a soft, living stain, It darkens the hollows and whispers the rain. The grey starts to deepen, the brown starts to gleam, The eagle emerges from a half-remembered dream. With a flick of the wrist, a touch of the soul, The watercolour deepens and starts to take hold. A glint of pure gold for the sun on its crest, A shadow of umber for the depths of its chest. The colours they mingle, they blend, and they fight, Until feathers of fire ignite in the light. And it's more than just pigment, it's more than design, The bird on the paper is no longer a sign. It's a heartbeat of cobalt, a pulse in the red, The spirit of sky on the page has been bred. From the ashes of nothing, from the blank, stark white, The eagle ascends in a blaze of pure light. The journey is over, the painting is done, The bird has awoken, the battle is won. The shape I have birthed from the paper and brush, Is silent, yet soaring. In the hush… It's alive.