Children of the Sun …
The artist chose the perfect day to paint at the beach,
with so many young families enjoying the sunshine,
his painting would be appropriately titled
Children of the Sun.
The old man sat in a wicker chair under
the cabana in an all-white suit that was
a bit rumpled and well-worn, his white hat
pushed low over his eyes as he leaned back
into all the soft white pillows piled against
the oversized round back of the chair where he
seemed to sink into and become part of.
The artist likened the image to
his beloved old white English bulldog as it
managed to vanish within white pillows and
comforters on the bed.
But there was something missing in the portrait.
The old man was lost in thought as he
stared towards the beach and the sea beyond.
The artist could not capture those thoughts,
or were they longings? A subtle expression
somewhere between a deep melancholy
and a profound beauty.
He followed the old man’s gaze to the beach
where a lot of families with children were
spending the day and one very young girl
stared back at the old man, their gaze
locked on each other as their thoughts crossed,
“You are my past,”
“You are my future”.
Somewhere out in the distant universe two giant
gears slowly moved in sync and the artist
heard a faint click which drew his attention
back to the empty wicker chair, where a radio
was on, stuck between stations, sending out static noise,
the voice of the poet kept repeating
“ti … time … war … warp”,
The artist looked out to the beach again and
finished his painting of the young couple
walking hand in hand toward the sunset,
“Yes,” he whispered. “They are my
Children of the Sun.”
© 2022 Phyllis Doyle Burns
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For more works by this author see Phyllis Doyle Burns on The Creative Exiles.