Into the damp forest I go for early morning sketching. The early morning is foggy, and I am attuned to the sounds of the dense thicket and the smell of a damp forest floor. The birds are starting to wake up. The swollen running creeks gurgle and trickle in the silence. At this hour the world is devoid of colour. Condensation is exuding from the trees as if they are breathing. I inhale it all. Breathe in and breathe out. Slowly the day unfolds, and the blue starts to emerge and the fog lifts. Hope rises for the promise of a brand new day.