Sept 14th: Painter Song

12 degrees 56 minutes 53.60 seconds North
77 degrees 34 minutes 54.01 seconds East

If I were a painter
I would paint my reverie
If that's the only way for it to stay with me

Hummed the earnest expressions on the boy's face as he sat himself down, on a journey to capture the panoramic view with his brush. Converging viewing angles with evocations, he outlined objects without lifting pencil from paper, glances swaying between reality and genesis. A touch of paint, diffusion and clouds took shape on the water that already inhabited their space. I observed silently, as flora arose from brush strokes and so did a voice from the world. We were on the other side of the fence, steps leading into the lake, forbidden to the populace. The guard's firm rhetoric soon found itself being played in the court of pubic opinion. I watched through the commotion in my eyes as the painter continued to paint his song, oblivious of the fact of his landslide victory. I went home after my morning jog, then detoured my route to work to see what had become of the painting. As expected, he had finished and left.

If I were a painter
And could paint a memory
I'd climb inside the swirling skies

Skies that refracted purple, orange and then yellow as I ran the 1.75 kms around the lake to pass that point every ten minutes, a brush stroke etching the blended image in my painting. After a jog I sometimes breach the gates to relax on the pedestal, edging the steps decending into the lake, breathing in the panoramic view, floating above concentric ripples, the reflections of surrounding life on its waters, clear blue skies, the morning bustle, fish in schools, nature at work, imagination at play, painting a picture, the 'Painter Song'.



Sept 15th: Midnight's Programmers