I always enjoyed art, I liked going to the art museums on my travels and seeing the Mona Lisa, the sculpture of Nike, Sunflowers by Van Gogh and all the renaissance paintings. I like to pain myself, I do not think I am worthy or Picasso or Van Gogh in anyway, but I enjoy the craft of having a blank canvas and thinking "What will go on this canvas today?" and I create art. Unfortunately, I cannot keep painting for a day, I like to rush through it and show it off even though most of my art is no better than a six year old who paints. I like the idea of being a painter, I like the idea of having no money and painting for a living, it is an artist's life. But, let me paint you a beautiful pictures using just my words. What do I see outside of my window? What is it that I see when I look outside?
I see droplets of clear rain coming down from the sky in slanted, yet upright in certain ways. I see the rain drops cling onto the pine needles of the over bearing prickly pine tree that is too tall for me to see the entirety of it, it's green pine needles stretch out from this way and that giving it a bushy look, small red buds are visible in some places. I can see the wet trunk of the tree that had changed color due to the moist, wet, cold outside. The trunk of the tree that is usually the color of hazel is now closer to auburn, but it resembles more red, you can see the bark peeling in certain places and a small branch trying to grow where it had been previously cut off. A sign of life fighting it's way through the thick of the tree.The rain drips off of the needles of the tree and pools its way down to the emerald green grass that still has dead yellow strands springing from it in certain places. The grass by the silver well-worn chain link fence is over grown and dying of golden yellow from either malnutrition or a small chihuahua constantly peeing on it. This is what I am seeing. A small bird feeder stands empty, the seeds that were there are now gone. The bird feeder is a egg shell blue color four legs make it stand and it is in the shape of a house, but it lacks walls, so it is standing at four corners much like the legs that touch the ground. Across the street a miserable black and white magpie sits under the roof waiting out the rain and once in a while shakes it's feathers from the cold rain drops.
You can smell the earthy undertones while water pours from the heavens, it is musky, yet delicate and fresh almost like laundry was taken out of the washer and reminds me of my fiance. The pitter patter sounds fill me with relaxation and ease as I stare out of the old, large window. I close my eyes and I can hear it clearly the rain is speaking to me; "don't worry, everything will be alright" it says and I believe it, for this was the same sound at my sister's wedding. I hear the tip tap of the roof leaking and the droplets falling onto my bookshelf, but don't worry because it is hitting the bottom of a bucket. The smell of hot chocolate fills my nostrils and I am comforted and I feel like a little child again. The only thing missing is the fireplace. Are you there reader? Are you there staring outside of my window looking at the rain?