100 Word Story: Vision

Sitting in the cool, wet grass I watched the birds fly. Streaming, soaring. I painted a picture of it with extreme emeralds and striking sapphires. The canvas seemed to imitate the shapes and texture of what I saw. The clouds moved in the painting and brought light. I took it home and hung it above the fierce, warm glow of the fireplace. Each day, I saw it as I passed through the lounge, I could be transferred back. Soon that magic had left, the painting was gone and it was all just a memory fading more and more every day.