Her skin cracks and folds, bark sluffs from her body. 

Cracks break through her trunk, flesh peals away. 

Small stems like fingers come from within the hollows and folds. 

They push there soft little tops through the cracks and bends,

looking with there eyeless heads for a way out. Out, out into the air. 

Out into the woods, and her tender caressing touch.

Moist moss, tender shoots the mushrooms multiply. 

Covering the split of the woodmans axe. 

Filling the void of damage.

Filling but not repairing, 

Filling to numb the pain of a ending. 

A ending of a life. 

The fall air is wet and sweet, 

A perfect season for mushrooms. 🖤

For some background this is a sad poem about a wood nymph getting chopped for firewood 

Then slowly being consumed by mushrooms. I know I said I’m focusing on backgrounds ok I lied I spent so much time on the mushrooms and I was like, ok pass😂 I promise I’ll get back on track. But I gotta say, I really love drawing mushrooms. I had such a blast with this one.