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Birds on My Shoulder

In the quiet hours before dawn, when the world is still cloaked in the velvet hush of night, I find myself drawn to the easel, where canvas stretches out like a waiting sky. My brush dips into colors that stir memories as old as the first light that broke over my childhood home.

In those days, birds were not just visitors in our yard; they were confidants, silent companions who perched on the edge of my existence with a gentle understanding. Crows, wise and watchful, their dark feathers catching the glint of the sun; hens and roosters, bustling with the energy of morning chores; and pigeons, their soft coos a lullaby in the heat of the afternoon. Each had a place, a role in the symphony of my upbringing.

But it was their penchant for perching on my shoulder that defined our bond. A gesture that seemed mundane to others held deep significance for me—a child who found solace in the soft rustle of feathers and the steady heartbeat beneath delicate bones. To me, they were protectors, guardians of secrets whispered into the breeze, symbols of an innocence untouched by the passage of time.

Now, as I paint birds upon the shoulders of my subjects, I weave these memories into each stroke. The crows, with their knowing eyes that seem to see beyond the surface; the hens and roosters, their feathers vibrant with the hues of dawn; and the pigeons, their gentle presence a reminder of quiet strength. Each bird finds its place, not as mere adornment, but as a tribute to a childhood where the line between reality and dreams blurred like watercolors on wet paper.

In my art, I seek to capture the essence of that time when the world was painted in the softest shades of morning and evening, when every corner held a secret waiting to be discovered. The birds on shoulders are not just symbols; they are conduits of memory and emotion, vessels through which I channel the innocence and wonder that defined my youth.

As the sun rises outside my studio window, casting long shadows that dance across the floor, I feel the weight of those feathered companions once more. They were protectors, yes, but in their presence, I too was a guardian, nurturing a bond that transcended the boundaries of species and time. And so, with each brushstroke, I pay homage to that childhood where birds were more than creatures of flight—they were the keepers of my heart's sanctuary, forever perched upon my shoulder.

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