He wasn’t in a rush. Inspiration was dragging its feet this morning, just like it had yesterday. And the day before that.
He took his time setting up, adjusting the paint box, straightening the legs, making sure they were sturdy. He reorganized his colors, then put them right back the way they were. Maybe he’d just stand there for a while, brushes in hand, watching the paddle boats drift across the lake.
He wondered if he should have gone to law school.
The sun was overhead now. His mouth was dry.
A duck swam up to the edge of the lake looking for crumbs. He had nothing to give it today. He could sense the animal’s disappointment.
The clouds looked like whispers and dreams.