The Painter and the Milky Way

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I sat next to the fountain and watched her paint. Her brush was moving easily on the canvas and her eyes moved smoothly between the subject and the painting. She looked like a natural, like every part of her body had been made for this moment. The way she sat, the way she mixed her colours, the way she moved her brushes, told me this woman was a really good artist. She looked like she could paint music.  
It was lunchtime. I’d bought a newspaper and a Milky Way and I was planning to spend the last 20 minutes of my break enjoying the sunshine, doing the crossword and eating chocolate. But instead of playing with words, I was watching an artist at work on this bright and breezy, spring day. I was so interested in her actions that I forgot all about my chocolate bar, leaving it unopened on the bench beside me.
I couldn’t see what she was painting but that didn’t matter, in fact that was better. The real beauty was watching the woman paint, not looking at the painting. I watched a small smile appear on her lips, and then disappear quickly as if a happy thought had come into her head like a butterfly and then danced away again. I watched her wipe away sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, still holding the brush between finger and thumb. Her brush strokes reminded me of an orchestra conductor; her brushes were like her baton, her paints her orchestra.
My time was up, lunchtime over - I had to get back to the office. I folded the newspaper, stood up from my bench and walked off. It was only when I got back to my desk that I remembered the chocolate bar. I put my hand in my pockets looking forward to the chocolate treat but it was nowhere to be found. I remembered that I’d left it on the bench; a small present to the god of painters. 

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  1. This is not a story, this is just poetry...

    1. And the original is even better -