Yesterday on my way to work I saw the most organized group of crows I've ever seen. One of them was crossing the pedestrian path with a bag of crisps in its beak while the rest watched on the other side waiting for him. When he reached them the all gathered round and started pecking on the sealed bag. How did they know there was food inside is beyond me. It was kind of creepy!
Something's cracked my shell,
it's just a small crack nothing big,
but when it rains I'm getting wet,
the forecast looks so bleak.
Monday - rain, Tuesday - storms,
Wednesday - showers, wets the norm.
Thursday - rain, Friday's bleak.
the weekend's called off, what a week.
- Poem by Chris Harrington -
By request of my friend and Private Investigator Hugh Evans I am portraying my vision of a battered soul, perhaps pre-battered would be a better term, but you never know what's going on inside. As we say in my land "Faces: we can see but hearts we can't foresee"... or something like that.
This is a small study for an illustration I'm creating for The Little Bird Project which intends to put together an exhibition along with a series of merchandise items and then donate the profit to UNICEF for their work against Child labour.
