The Watercolor

It hung in the kitchen and it had greeted every day for a hundred and twenty eight years. It had hung in this spot, in this kitchen, for thirty one years now. She would not tell you she had seen something new in it everyday, but she would say continually, weeks adding to a new mood. Because that was what light was, mood. The joys and contented moments among the Sun warmed woods of her kitchen.

What if a soul were like a tree?. The Spring and the joy where life is in new growth and the seasons run and the dormancy comes. Sleeping in the blue depths, Given a new cycle to go with the older rings? She took another sip of tea...