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Description
Still experimenting with some of my custom brushes. There are two grass brushes, one leaves, and one tree brush in this piece. Just some self being pushed into art. Still not feeling 100%. I love how people say they want you to express yourself, but then you just become the "sad friend" that no one wants to engage with. But also, I'm a contradiction. Like I've mentioned before, I yearn for all the friendships, but then on the other hand am completely out of social battery.

Gonna try to put a little story with this one...

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The cool breeze rustled through the leaves, creating a gentle symphony in the quietude of the New York countryside. Under the expansive shade of an ancient oak tree, Mia Westover sat, mule and dog next to her. The Harlem Mule Society, a sprawling estate with a history as rich as the soil beneath it, surrounded her. Mia had inherited this haven from distant relatives, and with unwavering determination, she was resurrecting both the estate and the legacy of the Harlem Mule breed.

Beside her, one of the Harlem Mules named BJ quietly laid behind her. Dio, her loyal Australian Shepherd, lay nearby, his watchful eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of intruders.

The exhaustion weighed on Mia's shoulders, a burden as heavy as the responsibility she had undertaken. She ran her fingers through BJ's coarse mane, seeking solace in the quiet companionship of the mule. Dio sensed her distress and nudged closer, his warm presence a comforting balm against her solitude.

Tears welled up in Mia's eyes, silently streaming down her cheeks and falling onto her crossed arms. She had poured her heart into reviving the Harlem Mule Society, yet the weight of loneliness pressed on her like the earth on the roots of the very trees that surrounded her.

"Sometimes, BJ," Mia whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves, "I feel like I'm fighting this battle alone. Restoring this place, breathing life back into the Harlem Mule breed – it's a daunting task."

As if understanding her words, BJ nuzzled against Mia's shoulder, a gesture of solidarity that touched her to the core. Dio, too, rested his head closer, offering his silent support.

In the midst of her vulnerability, a realization dawned on Mia. She wasn't truly alone. The animals, the land, even the wind in the trees – they were her companions, her allies in this venture. And beyond that, there were people who cared, perhaps more than she realized.

With a deep breath, Mia wiped away her tears. She felt a renewed sense of purpose, a quiet determination to continue her mission. The Harlem Mule Society was more than a restoration project; it was a connection to the past, a bridge to the future, and a testament to resilience.

Under the oak tree, Mia Westover smiled through the lingering traces of tears. The trio – Mia, BJ, and Dio – sat in silent communion, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, united in their pursuit of a reawakened legacy.

Description
Still experimenting with some of my custom brushes. There are two grass brushes, one leaves, and one tree brush in this piece. Just some self being pushed into art. Still not feeling 100%. I love how people say they want you to express yourself, but then you just become the "sad friend" that no one wants to engage with. But also, I'm a contradiction. Like I've mentioned before, I yearn for all the friendships, but then on the other hand am completely out of social battery.

Gonna try to put a little story with this one...

-

The cool breeze rustled through the leaves, creating a gentle symphony in the quietude of the New York countryside. Under the expansive shade of an ancient oak tree, Mia Westover sat, mule and dog next to her. The Harlem Mule Society, a sprawling estate with a history as rich as the soil beneath it, surrounded her. Mia had inherited this haven from distant relatives, and with unwavering determination, she was resurrecting both the estate and the legacy of the Harlem Mule breed.

Beside her, one of the Harlem Mules named BJ quietly laid behind her. Dio, her loyal Australian Shepherd, lay nearby, his watchful eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of intruders.

The exhaustion weighed on Mia's shoulders, a burden as heavy as the responsibility she had undertaken. She ran her fingers through BJ's coarse mane, seeking solace in the quiet companionship of the mule. Dio sensed her distress and nudged closer, his warm presence a comforting balm against her solitude.

Tears welled up in Mia's eyes, silently streaming down her cheeks and falling onto her crossed arms. She had poured her heart into reviving the Harlem Mule Society, yet the weight of loneliness pressed on her like the earth on the roots of the very trees that surrounded her.

"Sometimes, BJ," Mia whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves, "I feel like I'm fighting this battle alone. Restoring this place, breathing life back into the Harlem Mule breed – it's a daunting task."

As if understanding her words, BJ nuzzled against Mia's shoulder, a gesture of solidarity that touched her to the core. Dio, too, rested his head closer, offering his silent support.

In the midst of her vulnerability, a realization dawned on Mia. She wasn't truly alone. The animals, the land, even the wind in the trees – they were her companions, her allies in this venture. And beyond that, there were people who cared, perhaps more than she realized.

With a deep breath, Mia wiped away her tears. She felt a renewed sense of purpose, a quiet determination to continue her mission. The Harlem Mule Society was more than a restoration project; it was a connection to the past, a bridge to the future, and a testament to resilience.

Under the oak tree, Mia Westover smiled through the lingering traces of tears. The trio – Mia, BJ, and Dio – sat in silent communion, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, united in their pursuit of a reawakened legacy.