“THE LANDSCAPE ARTIST” by Trudi

So you come along barging in here, in this forest, along this path. You sprawl there right under that tree until some forest god warms you in his earthly embrace and breathes slumber down your throat. Eyes closed, lips parted, face of peace and bliss, and wild red hair running all over the place. We don’t see hair like that too often in these parts of the world. Nice hair, really, I like.

Not my fault that you decided to plop down exactly there between the two trees I was sketching. Humans don’t look around carefully enough when they’re setting up camp. I swear, the number of birds that fly over your head contemplating whether or not to relieve themselves at a precise point and place in time, just to teach you a lesson—no, I’d best not elaborate on that. Just be more careful, you never know who may be eyeing the worm you just flung your knapsack on.

You’re in the space of my landscape, so you’re in the space of my painting. Ah, I see we have a lot of explaining to do. I wanted to paint what I saw in the forest, and you’re just a part of it now. Personal rights infringement? Seriously, are you even going to go there? More questions, I see. Let’s get one thing straightened out, first, please.

What crazy kook told you wombats can’t paint?

~Angreek87