By: John Silva – March 2015
I will paint her as she sleeps… peaceful and serene.
The colors on my brush are even and smooth.
A thought from deep within her awakens creating tiny ripples on her once placid countenance.
My brush stirs. Can it capture such a gentle rhythm?
Her eyes open, and the tiny ripples transform into gently rolling waves.
As my brush captures her beating heart our spirits entwine.
She arises from her sleep playfully stirring the wind.
My brush strokes quicken. And, I feel the wind slapping my face.
As she stands, the sails of the tall ships fill.
And, I feel my brush pulsating as it struggles to express what I see.
She is spinning now… faster…ever faster. She has become a roiling tempest.
My strokes are furious as I try to capture her power.
Down… down… ever deeper slowly sinking until she softly drifts down to the ocean floor.
My brush is still. It lays exhausted, surrounded by crumpled tubes of paint.
Spent… She sleeps. Her breaths now steady and even.
My brush also sleeps, dreaming of adventures and events still being planned.