His Passion

When the bell rang, the other students rushed to start their weekends.

Joseph didn’t hear the bell. Absorbed in his work, he was in a different realm. He loved everything about art class. The smells of the paper, the paints, the solution for cleaning brushes–it was all part of every painting he produced. It was his passion.

He smelled the sweet scent of the flowers he painted. He felt the wind under his wings. His heart beat to the rhythm of the horses’ hoofs.

His dad waited, patient. He knew great things were waiting for his son.


34 thoughts on “His Passion

  1. That’s an unusual, refreshing twist. Good for both of them. If only more parents were so supportive, we’d have a lot less misery and a lot more art. Of course, less misery could lead to less poignant art.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is lovely! I know children like this, and I know teachers who saw it, and let them, and helped their parents see it, too. I also know parents who saw it, and helped the teachers learn. And spirits soared, and talent grew, and even a simple life was bettered then. πŸ™‚ Loved this! Na’ama

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thanks, Penny. I believe creative people operate on several levels of awareness, and the sense of smell is the oldest one we have, buried deep in the amygdala. I’ve lost a lot of my sense of smell, and I had no idea what a big loss that would be! Not Covid, BTW πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

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