The comings and goings of travelers:
Code, the artist. He was the ultimate stranger in my opinion.
Painting again. The stranger was always painting on the property. And he wasn’t even a guest at the inn. Where did he come from? Who was he? I wanted to know.
Mysteriously he appeared in the morning with his knapsack filled with his brushes and paints. Under his right arm was an easel and blank canvas. He walked to the other side of the pond and it took him approximately ten minutes to set up: knapsack on the ground near his right foot, always open; the back of the five-foot and wooden easel positioned toward the inn; eleven-by-thirteen-inch canvas positioned vertically on the easel; stainless-steel thermos on the ground, next to his bag.
He painted for hours across the pond, always stand
