It was just after sunset on a cold January Sunday when I pulled into the grocery store parking lot. The sky was dark and a slight wind was starting. Sodium-vapor streetlights cast an unearthly orange over the cars and in the air was a slight odor of turpentine.
After shopping the scent of turpentine was still there and my mood was depressed and pensive. At home I put the single serve lasagna in the oven and turned on the computer.
In the word-processor window I typed, “The air smelled like turpentine as he walked into the night air.”
From that sentenced flowed 2,000 more words of a story about man who wakes up in a world where his car won’t start and he is only one left in the world In time the man walks to a park and finds a woman there. She is painting the sky. They talk and he remembers who he is – a dreamer. Then he remembers her, the artist, the one who painted his dream in the sky.
He tells her a new dream and she paints a new sky.
I titled the story, “Turpentine,” and showed it to a few friends. It was somewhat autobiographical. It was something of a wish for a lonely heart.
A few months after I wrote that little story, I started dating Heather. I showed her the story and realized that she was my artist.
That I needed her to paint the sky.
Writer and artist, joined in a common need to create, were married 18 months after I wrote that story in January 2000.
Never dismiss the power of creating and the love to make dreams come true.
Till next week,