Yeah... this picture is more than a little impressionistic. But, sometimes I feel as though vagueness is the only way to express something correctly. You have to leave room for the soul to interpret, ya know...?

Even if the subject matter is a little disconcerting, the colors here make me happy... they remind me of the woods behind my Grandmother's old house, back when we used to celebrate thanksgiving there... Me, my uncles, my father, and sometimes my cousins, would all go out for a walk together to visit the wild pumpkin and squash patches while the more Matriarchal members of the family would be setting the table. I remember the crunch of freshly fallen leaves underfoot, the bitter scent they scattered in the crisp, cool air... I wouldn't hear much of what my father and uncles would be talking about, mostly sports or hunting or camping or something, but their quiet murmur behind the rustling breeze, the crow calls in the distance... it was a moment of mesmerizing beauty, whether or not I knew it at the time.
In the shoes of my Fursona... that may very well be his only solace as he faces this quite regrettable set of choices...