He spent all morning thinking of how to paint her. But the main problem was where. Outdoors seemed obvious; it was a beautiful morning and it would be one of those fall afternoons where the light is so crisp and clear that you can see an apple gleaming across the field. But then, the light in the parlor would also be perfect, and he could control it there with curtains. He would have to lug his equipment outside, whereas he was already set up in the parlor. Well then, this all presupposed what she would want to do. Would she take her clothes off? If so, would she be willing to strip down in the back field? There was no one out there but horses for miles. But maybe still the intimacy of the parlor was better and more discreet. All the same, he thought, he had better wait for her and see what she thought. And then, the sound of a car in the driveway, and as he walked around the house, a car door slamming, and her voice, calling his name in a boisterous hailing. She had seen him moving around the side of the house and she stepped briskly toward him. She wore paint-spattered black jeans, a t-shirt, brown cowboy boots pointed in his direction. She carried a portable easel easily in one hand. She smiled and strolled and brushed strands of hair back all in one streaming motion. “Perfect day for en plein air,” she said.

MB 2/8/2022

He spent all morning thinking of how to paint her. But the main problem was where. Outdoors seemed obvious; it was a beautiful morning…