On my walls hang two pieces of art; large canvases boldly splashed with colour, stroke upon stroke form vivid arcs.
I wish I had kept my father's paintbrushes, they were tools of masterpieces. From them, my strokes could have made faces flush and inspired songs and poetry; love?
* But, perhaps ‘twas a blessing to create with unique expression and freedom.
Dad died in January a couple if years ago. We had a fickle relationship driven by his narcissistic personality and childhood wounds. Sad.