Painter of Dreams by Bobbi Sinha Morey

 Painter of Dreams

My life no longer like a broken winged

bird that cannot fly, I gazed outdoors

upon a miniature gazebo so lovingly

carved by a pair of hands, a feeder for

orioles, and it reminded me of Eleanor,

a painter of dreams who lived so far away

inside a Tudor home, and I'd seen what

lay in her dreams: a quail on red brown

jasper, the blue mountains in eastern

Oregon. And she lived life with a passion,

rising with the iris of peaking dawn,

gardens spread around their acre of land

which she and her husband grew and

everything under the the sun: zucchini,

yellow squash, sunflowers, cabbage,

fruit trees, and pumpkin; a greenhouse

for flowers, rivulets of cool water and

streams; just beyond it a sanctuary for

homing pigeons white as doves. I took

the trail halfway into the forest, past

the Japanese shelter, so at peace, unaware

of any bears. She and her husband were

a pair who loved to hunt rock, cut and

polished what they found, their world

so abundant with beauty and life. I could

imagine one day in the spring one of her

paintings, a rainbow in the mist, inspired

by a waking dream.

Bobbi Sinha Morey Website