Meditation On An Artist

He painted men with long beards and missing teeth, bent women with canes, lonely children walking through meadows on their way back home. At night, he would study each shade, each shadow of their lives in the ramshackle cabin he inherited from his father. Sometimes he said he could feel them guiding the brush, hear their voices singing to the starry night. Ah, to hear him hum when the shapes, colors, and moods on the canvas captured a bit of what it means to be human, all too human.