A Word Picture
I sit in my recliner on a dreary day—
A gray television box sits quietly on one side of the sliding glass doors across the room.
When I shift my eyes slightly to the right, I see my picture. I see a glorious, red–redder than yesterday–liquidambar tree towering above the houses in the next block. I noticed it in an earlier stage when I took my walk about ten days ago, before I was grounded by a cold and cough.
Now I recover in my recliner with one of God’s simple gifts calming my soul. Can you imagine the depth of my picture, with the curve of the green-leaved guava tree to one side and the leaves on the lower grapefruit tree nearby, standing across our yard about twenty feet away? The double lines for the lower frame are formed by the table and bench of the aqua-colored metal picnic table sitting on the grass. No, there are three lines. The edge of the patio tiles is parallel to the picnic table lines. And nearer still, the half-drawn Venetian blind forms the left side, the white bricks on the wall of the arch are fine for the right side, even though they curve over the top of my picture.
I don’t own a camera, nor have I learned to draw or paint quickly, but I am not sure if either of those genres could capture the scene I am seeing.