FLOWERS ON BABY Elephants HEAD

Soft weight, barely there, petals pressing into wrinkled skin, colors bleeding into gray. A breath of movement, slow, deliberate, the earth shifting beneath round feet. Wildflowers, fallen, resting, waiting—no roots, no purpose, yet here, atop the small head, nestled between ears that sway with the wind.

A stillness, heavy, thick with sun. The sky stretched wide, pressed down, endless, horizon curling into itself. A hush, not silence, but something quieter, something deeper. The river hums, unseen, distant, a murmur through reeds bending in forgotten rhythms. The flowers do not belong, yet they remain, petals brushing against heat, against dust, against time.

A shake, a tilt, the air stirs. Some let go, drifting, unbound, lost to the pull of gravity, swallowed by the grass. Some cling, stubborn, soft against rough, light against weight, the contrast of things that should not meet. A flicker of motion—trunk curling, breath shifting, the world turning.

The flowers will leave. The flowers will stay. It does not matter. The elephant moves, forward, always forward, time pressing into the folds of its skin, the weight of moments that pass without asking. Petals scatter, a slow unraveling, carried into the nothing that is everything.

Gray against gold, skin against sky, movement against stillness. A ripple in the dust, a hush in the wind, a pause before the inevitable. The flowers are gone. The flowers were never there.

Soft weight, barely there, petals pressing into wrinkled skin, colors bleeding into gray. A breath of movement, slow, deliberate, the earth shifting beneath round feet. Wildflowers, fallen, resting, waiting—no roots, no purpose, yet here, atop the small head, nestled between ears that sway with the wind.

A stillness, heavy, thick with sun. The sky stretched wide, pressed down, endless, horizon curling into itself. A hush, not silence, but something quieter, something deeper. The river hums, unseen, distant, a murmur through reeds bending in forgotten rhythms. The flowers do not belong, yet they remain, petals brushing against heat, against dust, against time.

A shake, a tilt, the air stirs. Some let go, drifting, unbound, lost to the pull of gravity, swallowed by the grass. Some cling, stubborn, soft against rough, light against weight, the contrast of things that should not meet. A flicker of motion—trunk curling, breath shifting, the world turning.

The flowers will leave. The flowers will stay. It does not matter. The elephant moves, forward, always forward, time pressing into the folds of its skin, the weight of moments that pass without asking. Petals scatter, a slow unraveling, carried into the nothing that is everything.

Gray against gold, skin against sky, movement against stillness. A ripple in the dust, a hush in the wind, a pause before the inevitable. The flowers are gone. The flowers were never there.

Materials: Acrylic on Canvas
Year: 2023
Dimensions: Height 25″ x Width 19″ x Depth 1.5″