September Skies
The Painting of Love
and the child grew. . .she grew until she was 5 and a half years old . . .
"Daddy, what are you doing?" Kaehl asked her father. They were both cross legged, sitting on the grass. The child watched her father paint in sudden curiousity. The girl was bothered. What was he doing? How could 10 small paints of cans paint such a picture?
"I'm painting. . ." Gerard answered as he dipped his paintbrush and soaked it through the palet. The orange started to blend with the red. "Why do you ask?"
Kaehl stood up, her little legs still small and fragile. But how much she grew. . .the memories of the day she was born, lingered around Gerard's mind. She toddled her way to her father's side. Her height, not even above knee length.
"It looks pretty. . .what is it?" Kaehl asked.
The painting was beyond beautiful. It was the sunset, each little brush stroke smudged through the yellow rays of light, making the orange evident in the red sky. The black shadows of avians floated in reflection.
But what seemed to capture her sight was the girl. . .a small silhouette of a young girl floated over the dark waters, despite the depth.
"It's the girl I treasure most in my life. Guess who she is." Gerard said, giving a low chuckle.
"Mom?" The child asked in her small silent voice.
"Besides her. . ." Gerard mused, grinning.
"Uncle Frank?" Kaehl asked again.
Gerard's face fell, he started to think that his daughter couldn't look at what was right on the tip of her nose. "Frank is not a girl!" he snapped.
Kaehl started to giggle. Her giggle sounded like bells ringing through the church. It sounded like the Heaven's angels singing. Gerard couldn't help it, but to smile. The happiness of his daughter, was the best gift in the world.
"I give up. . ." she sighed. Then she glanced at the painting again. Who could it be?
"Think harder, Kaehl." Her father smiled, caressing her smooth, jet-black hair.
"I don't know. . ." She sighed again.
"You're not thinking then. . ." Gerard patted her head, gently. The girl thought, she thought and she thought.
The painting signified love. But who could her father love most in the world besides her mother?
Gerard bent down and kissed the top of her forehead, and as if he was reading her thoughts at ease, he answered in a soft, gentle whisper. . .
"You. . ."
"Daddy, what are you doing?" Kaehl asked her father. They were both cross legged, sitting on the grass. The child watched her father paint in sudden curiousity. The girl was bothered. What was he doing? How could 10 small paints of cans paint such a picture?
"I'm painting. . ." Gerard answered as he dipped his paintbrush and soaked it through the palet. The orange started to blend with the red. "Why do you ask?"
Kaehl stood up, her little legs still small and fragile. But how much she grew. . .the memories of the day she was born, lingered around Gerard's mind. She toddled her way to her father's side. Her height, not even above knee length.
"It looks pretty. . .what is it?" Kaehl asked.
The painting was beyond beautiful. It was the sunset, each little brush stroke smudged through the yellow rays of light, making the orange evident in the red sky. The black shadows of avians floated in reflection.
But what seemed to capture her sight was the girl. . .a small silhouette of a young girl floated over the dark waters, despite the depth.
"It's the girl I treasure most in my life. Guess who she is." Gerard said, giving a low chuckle.
"Mom?" The child asked in her small silent voice.
"Besides her. . ." Gerard mused, grinning.
"Uncle Frank?" Kaehl asked again.
Gerard's face fell, he started to think that his daughter couldn't look at what was right on the tip of her nose. "Frank is not a girl!" he snapped.
Kaehl started to giggle. Her giggle sounded like bells ringing through the church. It sounded like the Heaven's angels singing. Gerard couldn't help it, but to smile. The happiness of his daughter, was the best gift in the world.
"I give up. . ." she sighed. Then she glanced at the painting again. Who could it be?
"Think harder, Kaehl." Her father smiled, caressing her smooth, jet-black hair.
"I don't know. . ." She sighed again.
"You're not thinking then. . ." Gerard patted her head, gently. The girl thought, she thought and she thought.
The painting signified love. But who could her father love most in the world besides her mother?
Gerard bent down and kissed the top of her forehead, and as if he was reading her thoughts at ease, he answered in a soft, gentle whisper. . .
"You. . ."
♠ ♠ ♠
I know, that when Gerard actually gets a daughter, he'll love her to death too. Please suscribe and comment, i'll really appreciate it. :D thank you for reading, and commenting anyway, every click means a lot.