Hand Held Sketches

I sketched early today but after we came in from the porch.  It was very nice out and I just enjoyed the cool morning.  I used my footstool for a table and sketched in the Conda sketchbook with a Micron 03 pen.

For Scavenger Hunt from Life 168  https://creativespark.art/threads/scavenger-hunt-from-life-168-august-18-30.8170/ 

Number 1 hand held - Apple TV control
Number 2 stack of unrelated objects - blood pressure cuff, game and book, too small to really see. 
Number 3 clip - a plastic clip from a clothes hanger used now to hold a bag of chips closed

Sketching was good today, even if my perspective is a bit off.

I was looking for a poem this morning and saw this one - The Coyote.  My mom used to sing it as a song.  I had looked for the words a couple of years ago as I could only remember the start of it.  Happy to find it today.  Not sure who wrote it but it has been around awhile, there seemed to be no consensus on the internet.

The COYOTE

Way out where the sage and the “loco' grows. Way out where the wind is high. Where the dusty west wind always blows. You will see him loping by. And Just when the dusk and the darkness meet. You will hear him complain from afar. As he cries his woes, with uplifted nose to the points of a lonely star. 

A shadow that slinks through the prairie dusk till he knows a herd is near— Then breasts the strong old west wind song to the side of a "locoed'' steer. And there his greedy watch he keeps with a flaring light In his eyes. While the water drips from his thin gray lips till the steer lies down and dies. 

A vagabond thief in a tattered coat. Despised by all four-legg'd things. Yet we’ll wish him "speed.'’ though his pluck be greed. For the roving thoughts he brings. 

For he belongs where the world Is wide And your pony Is all you own. And your blood comes strong as you lope along on the “Happy Jack Trail' —alone. Where the creeks run dry when the sun Is high. And flood when the great clouds burst. 

And you "kick” all day In a cheery way At the glare and the dust and thirst. Where you push along with your hat jammed down _ „ Toward the "Iand-where-the-sun sets" And buffet a trail through the west wind's wail  To the shanty on Middle Crow. So here's "a good health" and a long "whoop-ee!” To the prairie thief in gray. As with ragged coat the thin coyote lopes on his lonely way. 

 I also looked for a drawing my mom did of a coyote howling at the moon but didn't find it.  Maybe next time.  She used to draw on the calendar, envelopes, and scraps of paper.  She was very good at it.  Ah, sweet memories.  She passed away in 1983 at the age of 78.