A small window fits a modest room. Sunrise reveals a lack of polish. Consideration for others, should anyone uninvited wander to this corner of the cove, has long been discarded. Dry crumbled bread, scattered beneath the maple drop-leaf, merges into a blended trail, ending at the edge of a floorboard entrance way. A singular conversation has commenced. An elderly artist defends his choice of color to a mentor who, despite her absence, manages to make her preference known. “Patience,” he whispers, and then confidently reminds her, “A hint of yellow … has always accentuated your blue eyes.”
James F. Ross
2013
