Painting Superior
Her gray hair whispers and wisps along her face and neck
Her blue eyes widen and then smile up at the scene before her.
I look, and look, and look harder still, and see nothing to warrant her smile.
I gaze upon fresh water seas, and sand and tall rapier grass.
Nothing that I have not seen before.
The wind tangles her hair and absently she moves her gnarled hand.
She pats the mess on her head. Her left hand points at the shade,
Her gesture moves me there.
I stake her canvas on the easel and fuss with her paints.
“No more stakes and potatoes,” she says “No more green beans and tomato pie.”
She strides over to me, wide hat in hand, sandals full of sand,
“Set if over there, near the tree, so I can be inspired by the bark.”
“You’ll freeze to death,” I tell her, “you’ll freeze in the shade with the Lake breeze.”
She laughs out loud at me. “I’m used to the cold, I am cold and cold all the time.”
She sits upon her stool, her feet wedged upon the ground, blue and mauve marble
The flesh upon her feet, somehow beautiful and slender still.
With strength and quickness, her thickened hand paints the blue of sky, the blue of lake.
“Superior always changes, is never the same.” Her arm plunges and pummels the canvas.
My grandmother taught me to paint at the age of eight,” she explains looking at the distance.
“’Take something for old age Elaine,’ she would say.”
I watch as her gray hair whispers and wisps upon her face, her thin lips smile and mumble Words I cannot hear of conversations with Superior near.
Sandra K Woodiwiss © 2011