Quiet House

Quiet House, Ink Sketch... On the third day of my "morning sketches," it is really hard to wake up. This morning my alarm was a hungry baby, and my house was softly lit with the morning light, cool, cozy and silent, except for the soft hum of a fan. I almost retreated back into my piles of blankets and pillows and caved for a little more sleep. Willpower won out, be it groggily, and I climbed out of bed and fumbled into a chair at my grandmother's sewing desk. This morning's drawing shows the only other somewhat-awake being in the house, my cat George. His own sleep disturbed by my clumsy movements, he stared at me awhile, an expression of sleepy questions as he stay nestled among the puffs and folds of my small down blanket. As I drew my layers of warm coverings (stubbornly odd, I know, in the 100 degree Alabama summer heat) and pillow, still with a sunken spot from where I rested just minutes earlier, I really wanted to put down my pen and go back to sleep. But it never hurts to push on, to give a bit more effort. And to drink some strong coffee.