He was all prepared or so he thought as he perched upon his stool. Right in front of the breathtaking wonders in view. His rickety, old, paint splattered easel in front of him with an almost impenetrable and primed canvas in a soft light ecru. It was brought to perfect tension for his forcible nature to be withdrawn as imposed against the gib. Ready to be constrained by his desires within. Yet he paused….His eyes seemed to be veiled at what he knew logically to be true. His perception distorted as if in a gold-fish bowl and hitting his nose on the dish. He looked at his canvas and blankly stared, questioning his abilities to paint what was there. As he gazed in awe and moans came as gentle mumbles; while the intensity so much that sweat drips from his temples. He picked up his brush and his tray of paint; started with the sky down to the water reflecting below. As the horizon was added along with the surrounding background and clouds above. Sensing someone was watching his every move, he took a deep breath and painted a man looking away so he would again feel alone. His hands trembled as the brush was washed for the final and most crucial part of his art. When he looked again through the bowl, there were old dead trees at the back of the water’s edge, with a woman tied at one and a flag above her head. A boat that had been dry landed. And the haze of the moon shone. Swans gathered in three in the shallow water, as elephants washed at the water’s edge seemly below. Even snakes silvered their way around the water’s edge, if nothing more than for a drink also. His sweating increased as his heartbeat raced; seeing faces when in reality he knew he was still alone. Stuck in a fish bowl of perception, but a becoming awareness that he was feeling numb. Over excited he came in his pants, waking as he fell off the stool. Looking up immediately at his canvas…one line was all he drew.