"Art"

It was a strange day--everything tasted purple and orange.

Minerva took her paints and her easel to the small hill overlooking the bay. The tall grass scratched her ankles, and the few struggling wildflowers nodded lazily as she passed.

She stared out at the sun in the water--red and green boats with clean white sails--her brush frozen in her hand.

Her fingers shook slightly. The unstained bristles hovered over her palette, waiting for the command to dive in.

She stood there for over an hour, waiting for it to happen.

But it never did. Maybe tomorrow...