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Sadness crept in like a fog. She’d tried so many different versions of the right answer, and not one of them seem to be growing her business. Her shoulders felt heavy; the short walk to her desk endless. She sat staring out the window as the late September crickets rasped. It was then that she noticed it, a tiny corner of ivory paper sticking out from a stack of business books. One of the first thank you cards she’d ever received, a note from someone she’d helped just by talking to her.
She ran up the stairs, two at a time, to the small table in the corner of her bedroom. The tabletop was a now a spatter of colors – cerulean, jade, magenta. She opened an old leather briefcase filled with paint tubes and brushes. As she sat, she drank in the sharp smell of turpentine, the linseed of the paints, the cottony linen of the canvas, and smiled. She was home. Time melted away, and her heart began to flutter with love. She looked at the blank canvas, closed her eyes, and her hand began to dream on the paper.
