the Master's work
I walked outside and looked at the sky in its vibrant riot of beautifully conflicting colors: red and purple, yellow and deep blue. I wanted to reach out my hand and swirl my fingers in the colored clouds, then pull my hand away and have it smeared with the striking hues.
I got in my car, and when I looked back at the sky it was already being taken over by the dark blue of dusk. Yet when I went up a hill I saw the strokes of red and gold once more before they faded completely from this side of the world.
My thoughts danced around the clouds, flitting from one to another. How I would love to swim through such color, and how all art is such a pale imitation at best of such wonders as sunsets. I thought, "That is real and free, true art. That is what I want to try to be."
I got in my car, and when I looked back at the sky it was already being taken over by the dark blue of dusk. Yet when I went up a hill I saw the strokes of red and gold once more before they faded completely from this side of the world.
My thoughts danced around the clouds, flitting from one to another. How I would love to swim through such color, and how all art is such a pale imitation at best of such wonders as sunsets. I thought, "That is real and free, true art. That is what I want to try to be."
Comments