It’s pungent. Those rustic soles have aged there,in that moist. His brown skin melts in the clemency of that sun, ruthlessly scratching his futile beauty. He is an artist who, for all his life, has tried to master the benevolent art of earth. His prudent hands know the most difficult spree to create life while his ephemeral body is no less than a buckler protecting his spells. His eyes can measure destinies to be written in the color of emerald while his soul gets pushed by the wind to a state of hold from where he can witness the lush of his art when completed.
It will take time and till then, lets just witness the beauty of that man, undisturbed by the sun’s warmth, wind’s tickle, world’s turmoil, just embraced by the love of mud. It’s pungent.