The Picture

I came across it in the Store on the corner. It was a picture painted about thirty years ago. The scene depicted was dusty; an old white wooden house stood out against some trees, and in the distance dark mountains reared up to the sky.

It conveyed to me very strongly the atmosphere of that warm afternoon; the small house nesting there, ramshackle and temporary in front of the aloofness of the mountains.

It pleased me to think of the painter, thirty years ago seeing the scene so truthfully and honestly. As I locked at it I felt a touch of intimacy with him, and our eyes seemed to meet for an instant with that flash of understanding that passes between friends.

A feeling of joy filled me as I left the Store, and looking about me as I walked down the road, I felt a-sense of unity with the mountains, the rivers, the countryside, that I had not experienced for years.