22 Degree Coyote — Acrylic

One of the most lavish cottonwoods I've ever stood beneath — every branch heavy with gold, the leaves so large and bright they seemed to radiate their own light against the red canyon wall behind. I have a love affair with trees like this, the ones that hold nothing back when the season turns, shedding color with the generosity of something that knows it will return. The temperature had dropped sharply that day, and above the scene the sky answered — ice crystals formed high in the atmosphere and bent the sunlight into a perfect 22-degree halo, a pale ring crowning the canyon like a benediction over the gold below.