Even though the afternoon was drawing to a close, Lillian continued to walk down the avenue, admiring the window decorations. Just when she decided that it was time to catch the subway home, she looked down a side street, and stopped. Hanging over a shop was a beautifully painted sign for art supplies. She walked down to the store and admired the Christmas window display. It seemed that the day was urging her towards her dreams.
Lillian walked through the store, examining the various materials and observing the other shoppers. A few young art students stood before a shelf of books, discussing the methods of different artists. A striking woman in a long velvet coat inspected small mosaic tiles, holding them up to the light. An older man with paint smudges on his hands inspected panels of wood. A smile crept to Lillian’s lips – in their faces she recognized the passion and desire to create.
She meandered from aisle to aisle, lifting oil pastels and pencils, opening sketch pads and running her fingers over the texture of the paper. She felt incredibly rich – all the materials called out to her to be explored, handled, and shaped.
She looked at the boxes of crayons, the tubes of paint, the wooden palettes, and assortment of paint brushes. She paused in front of a magnificent easel, with compartments for a water cup and brushes. She imagined herself standing in front of it, palette in hand, while she painted – alongside a lake? No, a river, with tall leafy trees – she wore a straw hat and her blue smock ruffled in the breeze – she lifted her brush and mixed a bit of celadon green with cerulean blue –
“Looking for a gift?”
Lillian jumped in surprise. A small man with a white goatee smiled kindly, almost as if he approved of her painting among the trees along the river.
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