Produce

The dying breath of a cold wind
Painted by the artist, on a long
Summer day.

It wasn’t right.
Where was the grey,
And a tinge of white, in the curls of air?

It didn’t sell,
Obviously.

Repeat.

Painted on a humid evening,
This time, the cold was
An evidence of the detailed snow.

No buyer,
Yet.

Creation and Criticism;
An argument that didn’t matter;
A chilling sense of inadequacy;
Cold.
An inspiration?

Strokes of two horse-hair brushes,
A riot of shades,
A success.

A cheque
Deposited the next day.

Painting? Sold.
The night? – got colder.

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