Round and round, a mass of colors blurring together, to make the next great masterpiece. One day, every household will have his name on their lips.
“Dawson, didn’t I tell you to take the trash out over an hoir ago?’ He knew the look on his mom’s face before he even turned around.
Sighing loudly he put down his brush.Β “I bet Da Vinci didn’t have to take out the trash.”
Later that night he was making fire in the sky until his mom opened the door. “Its way past your bedtime, bed, now!”
Dawson plopped into bed looking at the ceiling imagining Michelangelo painting his ceiling. He probably didn’t have a bedtime. It wasn’t fair! It was like his parent’s were blind to how famous he would become.
Years passed in a kaleidoscope of colors. Vibrant yellows and oranges described the fun times of his young life. From the secret clubhouse in the woods, off limits to girls. To going on dates in his own, fiery red Chevrolet.. When once he made the skies come alive with an array of colors that lit up the sky. Now his heart sparked with the colors of love for a special girl by his side.
Sparkling white soon was the color of the day when he became one with the girl that filled his heart with golden rays of happiness.
More years passed and his days were filled with numbers and such. High in the world of finance, gone were the days of painting like Michelangelo..
Life was good, but his dream lied buried. Were his days of painting gone?
Then one magical day Dawson’s heart was bursting with a joy that couldn’t be explained. He had become lost in a dazzling world of pinks and blues.
Out came the easel in his mind, while looking into the sky of a million stars. With one hand he held his newborn son and in the other, his daughter.
That night he wished upon a million twinkling stars, as he looked into the eyes of his babies. There wasn’t a bright enough color around to help describe what was happening to the emotions of his heart. No words were needed. A Portrait of Love was born, as the brush in his hand came to life once more.
The brushes in his hands might have come to life, but I think it would be a lot less messy to paint with ones that don’t wiggle around and cry so much.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Haha! Oh gosh! I do believe he put them down before he started painting. π
LikeLiked by 1 person
I notice you didn’t include an image with this post. I guess you’re of the belief that a thousand words is worth a picture.
LikeLiked by 1 person
πΆπ€! Yes, exactly!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh.
So lovely.
LikeLiked by 1 person
π₯° Thanks!
LikeLike
Love your descriptions! They really excite the imagination!
Couple of things though. You should spell-check some. hour instead of hoir, and the past tense of ‘to lie’ is lay. Unless, of course, he is telling an untruth. Love English?
Lye is a substance used in making soap
To Lie as in ‘to recline’ has the tenses: lie, lay, had lain, is lying
To Lay as in ‘to place something’ has the tenses: lay, laid, had laid, is laying
To Lie as in ‘to tell an untruth’ has the tenses: lie, lied, had lied, is lying.
It makes this possible:
He was lying about lying in the lye. He had laid his shirt in the lye to look like he’d lain there. Dr. Seuss could have had a heyday with these!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Glad you enjoyed the story. Bringing smiles is why I write. π
LikeLike
This is wonderful, love the descriptions β€οΈ
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Gary, sometimes the stories just flow out easily and this one did. π
LikeLike
What a lovely story woven through vivid images and accompanying prose.
LikeLiked by 1 person
π₯° Thanks Monika!
LikeLiked by 1 person