Eleven
JasmyThe brush swirled and stroked with the guidance of my hand as it deposited a load of paint. My thoughts focused and the image I had in my mind came alive, and I fell into a simple rhythm, lost in the tranquility of early morning. In this moment, I was at peace.
Every once in a while, I stepped back and stared at my work, searching for imperfections, missing pieces, and forgotten elements. I envisioned my light source and noted where to place highlights and shadows. I mixed and re-mixed the paint, achieving the perfect hues. When I was ready, I continued laying down paint until it was time to critique again.
“Pretty!”
An unexpected, quiet voice with a subtle but indistinguishable accent, surprised me, and my heart skipped. I stepped back from the mural and stood beside the
