He is ethereal, gliding through the vapor curtains in rhythm to the music.
His father's gift, memories of the big kitchen where he made the cherry strudels. Here part of him moves the hands that paint laughter and the chime of crystal. Too much, not enough, herbs chopped and sprinkled on the sizzling stainless steel. The blade flashes it's silver grin upon the butchers block. Boil, stir, simmer, mix the colors on the pallet and brush on the final coat. Peaches from the stand down on the highway, ***** from the bay just a few minutes walk down that dirt road. He works for there is peace here, he paints for that one girl's smile, and it is enough. Pour a glass of red and sit. Let us break bread together.