Paintings

by Bud Grazer

Harvest

Harvest

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In the distance, hills. Gentle slopes, covered in grass. Flowers, spots of white, yellow, red, blue on a tender green canvas. Trees, like giants above the small plants. Brown and furrowed, rough bark. Branches stretching in the air. Green leaves, like fingers trying to grasp the light falling on the ground.

Red amongst the green. Little spots of opposing colors. Apples. Red, round, shiny. Dozens of fruits on every tree. Dozens on trees on every hill.

A hole in the endless sea of greenness. Dry branches, without leaves, without fruit. Brown, dead wood, ready to fall. One sapling at its foot, brand new leaves and branches turned towards the sun.

High above, blue. The sky, adorned with a few white clouds, tufts of wool floating in the wind. Between the clouds, the Sun. Bright, brilliant, white. Pure. A flawless diamond hanged in the air, halfway between its zenith and the horizon, drawing shadows on the landscape. At the foot of the trees in the dense orchard, small spots of brightness dotting the overall darkness.

A tall peak in the background, incredibly steep. High spires and slim towers hanging from it. The gleam of sunlight on white walls and golden roofs. The dance of light through waterfalls.

On one side, another hill, more apple trees. Brown trunks, green leaves, but no red. No fruit hanging from the branches.

A path of raw dirt snaking through the plantation, clear brown curves in the green of the grass. A few stones here and there. Three ponies on the path, their backs turned to the orchard.

One mare. An orange coat, like the flesh of a ripe melon. A blond mane, a similarly colored tail, two sheaves of wheat goldened by the sun. A red band holds the strands together. On her haunches, three images of apples, red and shiny, each with its little green stem and leaves. More apples, real ones, piled in the wicker baskets hanging from her sides. Two red pyramids emerging from a desert of orange sand. On her head, a hat, brown and worn. Under the hat, two eyes, closed and framed by clear freckles. A mouth, wide open in a big, laughing smile showing white teeth glinting in the sun's rays.

Ahead, a filly. Pale yellow, like hay. A uniform color on her whole body, no picture on her flank. A raspberry-colored tail. A mane of the same tone, floating freely in the air behind her. Stretched out legs, in the middle of a galloping stride. A mouth opened in a shout. Furrowed eyebrows above a pair of amber-colored eyes, fixed on...

A dog. White and brown, fur mixing both. Nuts and cream. Two eyes, black and glinting with intelligence. Legs folded under her belly, in the middle of a jump above a branch fallen across the path. In the dog's maw, a wide pink ribbon, a bit of it spilling off both sides.

A little further behind, a stallion. Vivid red. Beige hooves contrasting with his coat. A clear orange tail and mane, both cropped short. Oranges and strawberries. Covering most of his flank, the picture of a green apple, cut in half. A large brown collar around his neck. Two shafts tied to the collar and connecting to a cart : simple wooden planks, four spoked wheels, also wooden. On the cart, barrels filled to the brim and spilling more apples.
On the stallion's body, beads of sweat, dark traces in the wet fur. On his face, clear freckles. Drooping eyelids almost hiding a pair of green eyes, turned towards the youngest pony. A stoic face, lips closed around a sprig of wheat. Almost invisible, a discreet smile.

Behind the ponies, on the border of the path, an apple, half hidden in the grass. A reddish, furry head peeks out from behind a tree. The fox's eyes are locked on the fruit. One paw is held in the air, ready to act.

Further down, at the end of the path, a large wooden building. A white wooden fence all around. A few bales of hay. Walls the color of a well ripe cherry, crowned by a clear violet roof. White frames making a contrast around the doors and windows. On the walls, a few decorative patterns. Black lines, curves, loops... apples. Above the entrance, a sort of small tower springing out of the roof, like a bell tower. A weathervane at the top of the small pointy bit of roof. Hanging at every window, planters filled with flowers. Geraniums, tulips, begonias. Red, yellow, pink.

Where the walls and the roof meet, making a straight angle, something like a small lump of dirt is stuck. Only a tiny hole to access the inside. A swallow's small, feathery head peeking out of the opening.

In a corner, on the forefront and away from the barn, another hill. No trees on this one, only grass. A few flowers at the top. Cut flowers, carefully deposited there. Pink chrysanthemums, gathered in several bouquets. Towering above each pile of flowers, a gravestone. Chips and cracks on some, inscriptions barely legible. A bit of moss on the base. Two stones more recent than the others, clearer and less worn. More flowers under these than the others. On one of the flowers, a butterfly, a yellow pair of wings poking out of the petals.

In front of the farm's door, a rocking chair, occupied by a green mare. A mane and a tail both tied in a bun and perfectly white. Pistachio and milk. On her flank, the picture of an apple pie. Next to her, a real apple pie on a windowsill, ready to be eaten. Around her neck, an old orange handkerchief with a pattern of red apples and a lace border. The eyelids are almost closed in front of two brilliant eyes, a clear orange in color and turned towards the three ponies on the path.

A wrinkled, but warm and satisfied smile.

Author's Note:

I've always admired people who can actually paint. I can't do anything properly with a brush, a pencil, charcoal, chalk or anything. Stick figures are too difficult for me and my handwriting is barely legible, so I had simply accepted the fact that I would never paint.

That was stupid. I had only been going at it the wrong way... All I needed was a thousand words. Maybe it's not pretty, maybe it's ridiculous, but it doesn't matter. I can paint.