The Writer~Part Three

The writer sits and watches, and wonders at the world around...

Tree under golden light, and blooming snow. A cloudless sky, painted by the Great Creator in blue. The pavement no one wants to see invades the beauty, jumps to the eyes, hurts the yearning mind. The early winter morning is cold, icy fingers closed on themselves in pockets--one can tell by seeing how round and puffed they have come to be. The days are beautiful, more than any other, but the chilly wind surpasses all. The air escaping from the slightly parted lips turns into thin whisps of smoke, and most heads are desperately trying to disappear within the coat, sinking as much as possible in the warm cloth.
Those humans pass by quickly, they don't stay in the cold, they would call daft anyone who would, nonetheless, they miss a great many thing. They look strangely at the writer, who breathing deeply the free breeze, runs her fingers along the paper, a pencil ensnared in her fingers, her eyes closed to feel the energy. A Fool, she is not. Daft, perhaps. Nevertheless, this trance of sitting and listening makes one wonder, and there comes the questions.

How do you put everything in ink on paper ? How do you transform these wondrous colors, that which is beauty beyond other in black and white ? How do you master this Art while so young ? How can you make others see what You see, see through Your eyes, understand through Your knowledge ? How can you pu the so many different tones of color, how can you put the structure of the trees in pen ? This life is complicated, and even what you love, what you despairingly want to do, you cannot.

Despair--for it is the only word which earns rightfully this place--would overmaster one as yourself as he sought for a way to reproduce the happy scenes it loves. A want-wit sadness--as Shakespeare would describe it--would overcome the one, and somber would be the place where the soul has gone to rest, hoping endlessly to find a way form it. How, is the question. Why, is the wonder.

Author's Note

Tell me if something sound utterly wrong, if the transit is not good. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this.