So I Paint.
It's like a punch in the chest, but bigger than that.
It hits all my senses at once.
The colour - light bounces through my vision - glances across leaves, off sand, the sides of a cloud - the tips of grass.
It sings.
I stop.
In awe, in silence.
Sometimes I stand, tears running down my face in rapture.
A moment, soon gone. Or is it?
It's in my memory.
The essence of it is still there, the glory of it is still there.
I don't want to let it go.
I love that moment of quiet.
The silence.
And the cacophony of shape and colour.
I hold it a bit longer.
I paint.