Painting a lake

The dark cloud of smoke rose over a crystal blue lake, as the sun began to set low over the mountain. The sun cast a rich red glow over the lake, which it reflected well onto a bonfire that which was a slightly too large for the taste of the man who took in the scene before him. The smell of burning pine and something else he couldn’t quite place filled his nostrils. It was almost sweet.

            He thought it was quite picturesque, he wished he had his paints. The inspiration that was exploding into every bit of his being, he knew just how paint it. He couldn’t resist much longer so he stood there next to the heat of the fire as he waited for it to burin itself out. He had to act now or else the sunset would fade. He closed his eyes, his canvas before him slowly he raised him arm the brush in his left hand the paints in his right.

So this is on a prompt to describe a lake setting on a murder without mentioning the murder. This is not our special for today but a post to make up for yesterday. We have something interesting in store, hopefully. 

            He started where the light began, the warm arms of the sun stretched to embrace the clouds above to envelop in a threatening glow as if wanting to Snuff Out the clouds. He paused for a moment and contemplated their suppleness and cool touch. He had practiced their swell and roll in his studio over 500 miles away. A smile crept over his face this was true peace for him.

            Next he worked on the mountains, cold and unmoving almost holding the sun up. They cut into the sky uncaring of who or what they hurt. Could they pop the clouds like a bubble? Their cold white tips of snow acting like ice. The sun would hide its face behind them shy of the feelings and colors he expressed to the clouds. The sun would then be casting blues and violets to the clouds as if rejected and sullen. He opened his eyes for moment noticing the sun was setting slower than he expected.

            The forest blanketed the foot of the mountains warming them. How would he get their texture? Their evergreen hues would prickle under his skin unsettling what ever he had left. Breathing slowly composure would return and he continued on with the picture he was painting in his mind. Stepping back he checked his work, he opened his eyes for just a moment renewing the inspiration that had brought him to his feet, a passion he had lost for some time.

            Now it was time for the lake before him. It felt more essential to get the deep reflecting pools of the scene above it. For it could not be exactly the same for it wasn’t, it is never that simple. Water was an enigma, how could it capture everything around it in such splendor. Yet it still had imperfections, the ripples and small waves of the invisible hand of the wind. He detested the wind; he could feel the bitter bite on skin, as the scene around him cooled toward the night. The wind was ushering in his time to go, but his masterpiece was not finished yet. He needed more time before finishing the job before him. He sighed, the fire was dwindling, and it was time to move on. That was why he came out here, too get rid of what was holding him back for so long.