The Painter


The Painter

It was Autumn. Swathes of gold, brown, and red shrouded the soft hills of the countryside. In a small fenced in yard, the leaves lay bundled and pressed against the fence posts. Flowers, scattered across the ground, peered above the morning dew. Their petals blanketed in yellow beams of light glistening in the mist.

A one floor shack stooped next to the yard, it's open doors and windows hushed in the shade of dawn. The cottage was old, but well maintained. It's pale brown wood glistening and contrasting against the bold figure standing outside of it.

A bright red and green skirt swayed inches above the grass. Bare feet and toes curling and feeling the moist dark earth. The easels off-white paper matched the cream coloured blouse shimmering as the woman bobbed back and forth, chewing on the edge of a brushes handle.

Her eyes amber in the sunlight, she surveyed the view in front of her. Large blue mountains reaching for the soft cotton floating above, the forest and hills stretching for miles in front of the edge of her home. It wasn't long before the broad strokes of her brush began invoking the beauty of the scene.

Pulling the handle from her mouth, she dipped into her paint and began to fill the parchment. Starting with a dusted sky she streaked across the page layering the world in blue. With a few more strokes, this time in yellow, she drew in the glow of the Sun and a few rays of light. Smiling she fished into a bowl besides her and took out a pinch of sugar; then blew it onto the page. The small diamonds lighting the heavens with stars.

Next she dove into her royal colours, their purple skyrocketing upward from the base of her art, curtailing into peaks and vivid mountains. Hiding the majority of the light behind their formidable cliffs. Entranced, she layered whistles of white in their edges and outlined the sunlight flowing from behind.

The sunrise in front of her began nestling the grass in front of the home, and she switched to green brushstrokes. Rolling the tip in circles across the bottom, her hills unfolding in swirls as the portrait of a morning slowly revealed itself on the canvas. Selecting a darker green she began her work on the underbrush and forestry. Sprouting and coming into the edges of the frame, each tree reached out toward the glow of her soft white Sun.

Smiling to herself, she took a breath and stepped back. Her fingers and hands spattered with creativity and her tongue caught at the corner of her mouth, she cocked her head. Searching the image and it's real life counterpart beyond, she rocked back and forth on her toes. A few careful strokes and minor touches and she leaned back once more, satisfied.

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