An Autumn Path - Part 2

Hello,

This is quite strange. I feel like I'm talking to myself. I am sure that there are some readers still left who will read this post, but sometimes, like today, it feels like I am the only one here. I could tell secrets and no one would know but me. Hmm. But you know, I have a funny feeling that if I were to say something like I was going to just not post here anymore, than I'd get all sorts of comments begging me not to. Funny isn't it? Oh, well, I guess it just goes to show that you can't always tell who is reading what.

Yesterday I was working on trying to get models/pictures for my illustrator to use making the illustrations for TCR-6. I'm still looking for some. I need a picture of a toddler (girl) standing on the ground kissing a horse. Yeah, I know, cute. But I haven't found one yet. And I don't have any toddlers who could pose for me.

And I'm still writing. I only have about 10 more parts to write!!!! If you are reading this, pray that I'll be able to get them written! Next week I'll lose two writing days, and I'd really, really like to get everything written before the end of the month! And I still have to figure out the rest of the pictures, and correct other parts of the story.

I'm also working on this Blog Party! :) It's going to be fun! I hope some of you, at least, are planning on attending! :)

But that is then and today is now. Why don't I just give you silent readers something worth reading. :)

An Autumn Path

Part 2

    The years slowly rolled by and found Sammy growing to actually enjoy his work, at least most of the time. No longer did he criticize his cozy upstairs room, for he had grown fond of it. There was no school nearby for Sammy to attend, so Grandfather, himself quite well educated, taught Sammy all he knew. Sammy learned rapidly and never tired of listening as Grandfather pulled words out of the air to paint beautiful pictures for his mind’s eye. Grandfather, watching the boy’s eyes glow as he talked, smiled to himself. “That boy is going to make a fine man someday if he doesn’t go out and get spoiled before he is ready.”
    One day in early spring, Sammy sat at the kitchen table with his paper and pencils. He was supposed to be working on his arithmetic, but instead his thoughts were on the story Grandfather had just told him. Absentmindedly, he began to sketch what he saw in his mind. Rapidly the picture took shape, and to his great delight, Sammy could actually begin to see before him a little lake nestled in the valley between some high hills. So busy was he that he didn’t hear his grandfather enter the room.
    “What are you up to now, Sammy?”
    Sammy looked up. His cheeks became scarlet as he attempted to cover his drawing with his hands. “Uh, . . . I . . . uh,” he floundered, his eyes dropping to the table.
    Without a word Grandfather held out his hand. What was Sammy trying to hide? Grandfather had begun to place great trust in the boy; was that trust premature?
    For an instant Sammy remained still, then slowly, with eyes still down on the table, he placed his drawing in Grandfather’s waiting hand. Would Grandfather be angry? Would this mean another whipping? He hadn’t meant to disobey, he hadn’t even meant to draw. It just almost drew itself. Could he make Grandfather understand? At last, as the silence lengthened into minutes, Sammy glanced up. His grandfather was staring from the picture to Sammy and then back again to the picture.
    “Sammy, where did you learn to do this?” Grandfather’s voice held only wonderment in it.
    Sammy shrugged. “It just did it itself almost. I could see it in my mind, and my fingers just took it out.”
    Grandfather shook head. Never had he seen such marvelous work for someone who had no training. At last he spoke. “You drew this from what I had told you?”
    Sammy nodded.
    “Get out another piece of paper. Let’s see if you can do it again,” Grandfather directed sinking into a chair while he continued to stare at the picture.
    In surprise Sammy obeyed. His arithmetic was shoved gladly out of the way. There would be time for that later.
    For several minutes Sammy just sat and listened as his grandfather began talking, then his pencil began to move across the paper. Under his fingers there soon arose a ship with sails unfurled as it rose on the crest of a wave.
    Arithmetic was entirely forgotten and for several days Sammy spent hours drawing picture after picture.
    A few mornings later, when Sammy came into the kitchen for breakfast, Grandfather sat frowning at the table.
    “Sammy,” he ordered, “I have to go into town today. While I am gone you are not to draw anything. You are to work on your arithmetic! Is that clear?” Though his voice sounded stern, he could not hide the twinkle in his eyes.
    Sammy grinned. He’d work on his arithmetic.
    When Grandfather returned, he brought with him some paints and brushes.
    Sammy was thrilled. After a little practice he found he could mix the paints to get whatever color he wanted. He practiced his painting any chance he got and reveled in watching the colors mingle to form mountains, sunsets, flowers and trees. His eagerness was so great that Grandfather took time to show him the beauties of tiny insects, of animals and birds. For a time all Sammy wanted to do was draw or paint, but when he suddenly noticed Grandfather moving more slowly than was his want, he knew his work had to come first.
    The years passed. Sammy and Grandfather were content to stay on their small farm together. Theirs was a happy and peaceful life, for they had come to love each other dearly. They seldom left the farm except for church. And their trips to town were so few that they remained strangers to most of the folks there. Sammy had begun to sell his artwork through a friend, yet none who saw him in town would have guessed the talent that lay in his fingers. Grandfather encouraged him to keep working to improve his work, telling him that one day he would have to go out into the world.
    “But never forget, Sammy,” he always added. “That God makes the loveliest pictures. Always draw and paint to please Him. Men ought to take more time to notice His artwork, but since they won’t, it is up to you to bring it to their attention.”

    A wind sprang up and ruffled the hair of the young man. He sat up. His eyes looked again at the glorious colors about him. Slowly he stood and picked up his pack. “I will go on Grandfather,” he whispered, glancing back at the road behind him. “I will make them see the beauties that God has made.” In his mind’s eye he could see the old farm house and barn and up on the hill a newly formed headstone. “I’ll take God’s loveliness into their homes and business.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t ever thank you again, Grandfather, for taking me in, but I’ll never forget it.” With those last whispered words he set forth down the path of brilliant colors.

Did you enjoy this short story?

Will you come back to read next week's story?

Are you excited about TCR-6 getting done?

Did you even read this post?