The Color of Time

  A painter stands before a canvas in a studio warmed by a dying fire. Shifts one foot to the other under an old denim apron and a panoply of colorful mistakes, sensing more than seeing that something's not right. Not wrong—just not quite right. Dabbed and daubed, speared and smeared, the dancing figures shift …

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Life Lived

With any luck it’s a cool fall day. A breeze tumbles freshly fallen leaves, hush across the hillside. Overgrown grass goes to seed under a light mist hanging over the land like smoke in a wine glass. If tears fall, they fall toward smiles and wan laughter. Though I have died, remember the good times, …