The Artist

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Trifling chatter is all that consumes his fellow hikers as they trudge down the winding timber path. The artist lingers behind, allowing the others to trample on ahead. When the dust finally settles and the palaver is distant, he closes his eyes and revels in the allurement of autumn. Tilting his head, he catches the warmth of sunrays peeking through the treetops. He can hear the rustle of leaves as squirrels scamper about, harboring nuts for the winter. He inhales deeply the fresh air of the timberland and catches a scent of evergreen. A smile touches his face as a breeze swirls past him. Opening his eyes he finds the branches overhead showering him with an abundant spray of leaves. One leaf captures his eyes, and he grasps it as it flits by him. He runs his fingers along its ridges and marvels at its crimson hue. In that moment all is silent; a current of hope enraptures him. Suddenly he feels confident in achieving any aspiration he seeks, never to be downhearted again. Then a voice rends the silence – was someone calling him? Reluctantly, he tears himself away from his reverie. Casting the leaf onto the trodden path, he wills himself toward the group of hikers he had so easily forgotten.

November, 2012

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