There is an empty canvas propped up against the wall on the far side of my room. I sometimes stare at it and see various images fade in and out, almost like an unseen hand with a paintbrush trying to find that perfect image.
Somedays it is dark and ominous rain clouds gathering and brilliant streaks of lightening. Somedays it is the rough sea washing up on the rocks on an empty beach. Somedays it is the rain lashing down as a majestic storm rages on. And somedays it is a little girl sitting on the grass, wild flowers around her, the sunlight bouncing off her hair….
Stories from within the eye of the storm