Infertile Ground

On the work

Infertile ground is where nothing takes root, yet this panel is crowded, as if the ground were made of everything read and heard in a single day. Long blue drips run down through the gathered clippings, and two yellow fists grip them. The trouble is the noise itself: so much coming in that nothing new has room to grow. The fists read as holding on through days that wouldn't move, gripping ground that gives nothing back. Nothing in the panel says they ever let go.