With feathers as soft and muted as the twilight sky, the grey owl perches on the branch, its wise eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Every inch of this ancient bird speaks of silent knowledge—its wings, like pages from forgotten tomes, hold the stories of ages passed. In its gaze lies an understanding that transcends time, watching over the forest with the quiet assurance of one who has seen it all. The owl does not speak; its wisdom is found in the stillness of its flight and the patience in its watchful stare.
Ink and watercolour on Saunders Waterford 300gsm smooth cotton paper.
Photo reference from Kevinsphotos-pixabay.
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