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PERFECT, MAJESTIC, WARM

PerfectMajesticWarm

“… a poke of light to crack the horizon’s stoic shell…”

The storm had passed. And every last remnant was fading faster than two hearts could imagine. Forgiveness came in hushed whispers of the heart. Yet memory reminded, that hind-sight was alright if it provided a lesson. He learned the hard way. He always learned the hard way.

The early bird did indeed get the spoils, as work and its toils became the obligation to end his lack of motivation. Settled under the covers until the nagging need to proceed overwhelmed him, Will’s feet finally kicked free of flannel confinement. Poking aimlessly with pointed toes in search of his slippers, the call of the wild overcame him to fore go the footwear to traipse across the tile’s frozen tundra for relief.

Will had this belief that his days mirrored the mood of his early waking moments. Often tense and hectic, he picked a bad day to give caffeine the finger and lingered with his orange juice a bit too long. His thoughts previewed the day ahead. He dreaded his Monday meetings, he had over-scheduled his clients, squeezing two lunch dates into his incredibly shrinking day. Travel tumbler clutched and briefcase under his elbow, Will started for the office.

A text buzzed his phone. He didn’t reach for it. The tone said it was urgent. It didn’t matter. Will drove toward the complex.

The stretch of Highway was relatively clear this time of morning. It seemed this corner of the world had been untouched my human interference. Off to his left in a clearance of trees, it began. A glimmer first; a poke of light to crack the horizon’s stoic shell. Edging skyward, It rose in rapid progression. Will’s indiscretion would set the stage for a great day. He pulled off to park and watched the rapid rise of a new day dawning. He sat fawning over it’s beauty, and out of duty to his heart, he called her.

“Good Morning Sunshine!” he began. “I saw this incredible sunrise on my way in this morning.It reminded me so much of you!”

A mumble; sleepy, sexy, nearly incoherent – it was laced with her heart.

“I love you very much” she finally broadcast in her warm comfort.

“I love you very much, too!” Will repeated passionately. It was going to be a fabulous day!

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VAN GOGHING, GOING, GONE

“…cut off his nose to spite his face!”

Frederick Van Gogh was not as accomplished as his more famous cousin. Freddy was more the paint by numbers kind of artist. But he had a good ear for music. That was more than he could say for Vinnie. Since that mishap with his straight razor, everything just seemed monotone.

That suited Freddy to a tee! Now the playing field was level.

But the lesser-than Van Gogh created a buzz around the art world with his own self-portrait. It was known that Frederick was a loner, very to himself. His personality was as scarce as his acquaintances. And his lack of skill and fore-sight left him one step from the pinnacle alongside his now less handsome cousin.

His portrait was done totally in hues of black and white. There was no ruddiness in his cheek; no blondness of hair. His crimson blazer was a very muted charcoal on canvas. Forty-nine hues of black and white to be exact. Oh, the likeness was very good, but he had cruelly included a third ear floating in the background. A tweak to the great Vincent Van Gogh.

The Van Gogh clan treated Frederick like an outcast. His jealousy was one thing, but the ear… it was as if he had cut off his nose to spite his face. So much for one-upsmanship!

UNSURE FOOTING

My brush paints broadly!

My brush paints broadly. Fine strokes are for the self-absorbed. I blur; an abstract with a surreal tint. Hues of fiery heat; reds, yellows, some umber (I take umbrage to umber). Complementary blues and greens to cool my innards just a smudge!

The ground is barren. Foliage underfoot is not in my picture. Grass does not grow where I tread; a manic meander beating a path to my muse. I refuse to allow it to rest. At best, all the greenery fills my background scenery.

Trees are abundant, purple-mountain majesty reigns supreme, and I dream of a lake, serene and sublime, fed by a waterfall to stir and churn my thoughts so I ought not be stagnant. My shadow is long and deep, and it creeps into the thinking of others who seek my impressions. The only depression hides in the lurking darkness of a lone cave; my mind where my ideas go to die(resurrected as wisps of worded wonder).

I am under its spell. A palette of rain-bowed rhyme and reason. The brush continues its dance upon the canvas that life has provided. I can’t hide it, my masterpiece is yet to be revealed. Until then it is sealed within the wide strokes of my red sable muse!

 

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012