I set up to paint on a bridge over Schoharie Creek, and a father and his two sons came along to watch. The boys were each holding a slice of bread and they tore off little pieces to feed the fish. They wanted to know why I hadn’t included the fish in the painting. The father wanted to know how I made my living as an artist. The delicious aroma of frying latkes drifted over to us from the nearby Orthodox Jewish community. Then the boys ran home, their father warning them to watch out for cars.
3 comments:
Are the man and his kids going to make an appearance in a future Dinotopia book? ;-)
How I wish I could get away to a place like that and have some time to my self as well.
I use to have the nicest private place like that but now its gone.
It was a nice place where you could look at the stars at night and in the day you could lie on your back and eat the overly sweet grapes during the day which were growing around the rooftop of an old shed. I really miss that old childhood yard. It was the best.
At least I still have access to it in my dreams.
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