A Distant Artist

And there I stood, a warm salty breeze brushing against my face as I gazed off into the orange, red and grey painted clouds over the horizon. It was breezy, but still warm. As other tourists awed at the sight of turtles amidst the shore waters behind me, I stayed fixated on the ocean meeting the sky. How I so wanted to go there; to the end of the world to meet the one painting the canvas called life; to discover the inspirations behind it all. How I so wanted to be lifted from where I stood and feel the comfort of the pillowy clouds above me; to be consumed whole by them all.

And I waited, feeling as if I was seconds away from it happening.

I closed my eyes, and let myself go at the rythym of crashing waves against island rock. How I wanted to keep that moment; to take it and put it in my pocket so that on any other day when I needed reminding of how beautiful the world is, I can take it out and look at it; so that I can be there again at moments notice.

And waves crashed in harmonic intervals as the wind passed my ears. Nature was playing its finest symphony just for me.

I opened my eyes. I opened my eyes to see that the clouds had changed, still beautiful in all its wonders, but still different. A new painting had begun to emerge, and I was swept away yet again.

This memory is in the pocket of my mind, it takes time to find it amongst the clutter of every day little papers; but its there. And there to sweep me away yet again.