The curtain parts. A parked car moves and reveals a once hidden scene. The sun arcs half of one degree and the light shifts beyond recognition. A bee lights on a clover. The flower quivers. The next moment, stillness. Did any of this ever happen?
I’m not a storyteller, but I sometimes consider myself a fiction painter. I use fictional visual images from memory. Different imagined scenes incorporated into paintings to portray a truth. Oil paint covers well. The new day and a new session might make yesterday’s painting entirely different. What happened? Did I change so much, spinning around my core, or did something I happened to see uncover a different version of the truth?
Much eludes me here. I like that mystery and surprise, when I see something I see over and over with the day’s fresh eye.