The Sentinel
16”x12” oil on linen panel
Across the golden canopy of a late summer field, a wanderer stood silently before the ancient stone pillar. The wind carried whispers of forgotten tales, brushing against the wildflowers as if coaxing them to dance. The sentinel tree, steadfast and gnarled, seemed to guard the land's secrets, its roots entwined with rocks weathered by time. The young woman gazed upward, not with fear but with wonder, as if waiting for the tower to speak, to share the stories it had witnessed over countless seasons. In this quiet moment, the world felt infinite and intimate, where past and present met under the boundless sky.
