The mind of an artist

Ah! Night has arrived, and so has my curiosity. As I glance up at the proudly beaming stars, they seem to gossip among their neighbors.

"Who is that?" they whisper whimsically, pointing at me. I feel a slight tinge of jealousy as I listen to them chatter. After all, to them, Earth is still just a child, barely even known to the rest of the universe. Why can't I be like them? Living forever, shinning for all the millions of artists to capture. What is stopping me from reaching the heavens, which I can clench so vividly in my imagination? As I pounder such thoughts, I continue to jot down sketches of God's sculptures in my sketchbook. Every detail explodes into life as my pen joins paper. A captivating crescent moon soon completes my sky's milky charm as a flock of seagulls transform into grey globules, spreading across a vast, open spectrum of shapes and brightness. I sigh approvingly as I soak in the sheer magnitude of my surroundings. When I begin to guide my pen across the constellations, however, a lone car screeches slowly by, rudely interrupting my trail of thought. As I grumbled, watching the car pass by, I unintentionally discover another site from which to siphon inspiration.

It was a lone, dying street lamp projecting brilliant streaks of color across an otherwise, dark, weedy alley. The light covers up its dirtiness like a blanket of warm concealment. My mind begins to race uncontrollably with passion. As the concrete intercepts the light, bits of windswept trash flow effortlessly across the contrasting pools of white. The cool midnight breeze runs smoothly threw my thick brown hair and around my glasses as I feverously get to work. While I sketched, a cat stealthily dashes by a closed street vender, projecting an elongated figure on the otherwise blank wall.

"Oh what an image!" I exclaim, scribbling down ideas in my book. By now, the only noise was released from the soft tapping of my shoes against the dirty street corner as I scanned the area for interesting situations. Steadily I sank deep into numbness. The subtle quietness and charming figures were all I could understand.

Suddenly without warning I felt a wet jolt on my left hand. As I stood there, bewildered, another burst jostled my nose and eyes. Turning my head up, I discovered with much happiness the culprit of my interruption. It was raining! Oh the joy! Oh the mystery! It felt so clean, so fresh. If only I could draw what I could feel, I would have the world on its knees.