But I’m not an
A stranger was in my house late last night. I could see a male silhouette in a shadow sitting at an easel. I heard the paper roll being pulled behind the drawing board, pencils and brushes screaming to create a mysterious gift. I don’t know what petrified me the most; seeing someone in my house, or what would be the final draft. But where did he come from? I didn’t invite him inside. This wasn’t a dream.
I could see the scenario taking place while lying in bed. There was no going to sleep this evening, until this nightmare ended. That’s a bizarre statement. I’m consciously watching the shadow of the night. Well sort of.
It wasn’t until early morning that he went outside, and finished his masterpiece
Sitting under a tree.
Vera Robinson © 2015