|Journal: On movement|
-------------------------------------------Mood: Content to observe
Frank looked at her, with a hint of laughter in his greying eyes. “Is it that hard, even now? Have you truly lost sight of your painting? Here, I will tell you what to draw on that canvas: take a swath of the lightest, purest blue and dash it across the whole canvas… give it little specks and flowers of white, and edge it with a vibrant turn of green…”
Lucy looked up at Frank, as if to ask him if he was indeed being serious.
“Just do it, will you, Lucy? Anna should be here any moment, and I want her to see this. Paint for me the blue, and the white, and the green. Paint for me the grass, and the flowers, the little pond that melts into a light cream beneath the heavens. Paint for me three little birds that dance in the breeze of a summer’s day, careless and foolish. Paint for me a cottage, and a home, and a forest.
“Lucy?” Frank repeated her name softly.
“Yes, Frank?” Lucy had just picked up her brush, hesitating.
“Paint me the sky, full of stars. And that is all I ask…”
Off towards the hills above them, Frank and Lucy could see Anna walking slowly in their direction.
Lucy said quietly, “Yes, I think I shall.” And Lucy smiled at what she saw.
...Created 2007-03-17 16:56:28 [ View Past Journals ] [ View as Blog ]