This is to me like a dream, where delicious-looking candy clouds juxtaposition with a lone, melancholy figure in the foreground, equally comfortably and precariously laying upon a sparse excuse for a raft. She drifts; if there is shoreline just beyond the viewable frame, she offers no clue to us.
But I have hope for her. I believe, that when she rises, so will the sun, that when her face meets the day, color will paint her cheeks and her little vessel will meet the land. It's just, that she needs this time, like a cocoon. She needs to break it down so that she can rebuild herself...or shall I say, a newself, no more the woman she was than a butterfly is still a catepillar.
Acrylic1's 'Drifting' is a metaphor for much, especially as a tale of both potential and pratfall, depending on whether the cocoon is rented just for a season or becomes a final resting place.