NOVEL
WOODY PAUL GREY
CHAPTER ONE EARLY DAYS
While behind my baby boy back the skillful painter was drawing a bitterly cold, absolutely quiet, dark- blue night: black, crenellated pine tree tops in the background of the bluish - purple sky vastly covered with the sparkling silver stars, I was peacefully resting on my daddy’s strong hands firmly pressed to his powerful chest and feeling his heart pounding. The whole body of mine was tightly dressed in warm clothes, including my hands hidden in fur-lined gloves, legs wearing soft, thick socks under the warm winter boots and even the mouth and nose were safely protected from the chilly winter air by the woolen scarf, not to mention my head escaping in the hooded jacket, so that I couldn’t sense the real temperature outdoors and just only enjoyed the live, awesomely beautiful picture worth the paintbrush of the best artist in the universe. Who that painter was, I wonder?
My careful father tenderly placed me on the wooden fence turning my tiny body back so that I could see and love the rear end of the pretty amazing drawing. And it was fabulous indeed! In front of me spread a deep, huge deserted valley sinking in the white, thick, snowy blanket glittering in the bright moonlight. In the middle of it was an ancient wooden windmill with huge sails very much alike the wings of the pterodactyl. There was only one peculiarity to add – not a single sound could be heard in the neighborhood. Even the ill-starred village dogs weren`t barking, as though following some unwritten law and not wanting to disturb the moment of profound silence. And it was extraordinarily nice!
One could hardly imagine that some time ago our small family of three had been going nearby in a horse-drawn carriage with all our humble belongings at the back it and the view was totally different. Then the invisible artist was portraying the golden autumn using a mixture of green, brown, grey, red, yellow and violet colors for the grass, woods and bushes, except for the dark road, the blue sky and the sun shining so brightly and joyfully. The village where we were heading to was up on the hill, but I remember only our house and one of the neighbors`.
I can remember exactly that we didn`t talk then as though my dad was feeling that it was
unjustified to trouble my first communication with her Majesty Nature so that I would remember to the rest of my life the incredible masterpiece created by her that memorable, magic night. And he was perfectly right. I still can see that wonderful three-dimensional landscape in my mind as distinctly as I had seen it then. Unfortunately I hadn`t become the famous artist though since early childhood I could easily distinguish between beautiful and ugly in art, music, literature, as well as, in life itself.
Pitifully I don`t recollect what kind of dreams I had seen at night, but I`ve got no doubts that they were as sweet as the magic show I had seen before.
Next day, nonetheless, turned out to be the last and bloody one for the only pretty animal I`ve got acquainted with just recently. It was a black and white spotted calf with big, kind brown eyes. It didn`t talk much, just mooed strangely as though calling his mother cow. I also often cried when my mother was out. Anyhow it seemed that we understood each other easily without words.We both were rather young and eager to discover that big, weird and incredible world around us.
- II -
DECEMBER 2009 YALTA UKRAINE
To be continued...
àäðåñà: https://www.poetryclub.com.ua/getpoem.php?id=772446
Ðóáðèêà: Ëèðèêà ëþáâè
äàòà íàäõîäæåííÿ 20.01.2018
àâòîð: Woody Paul Grey