The exercise:
Tell a story from inside your favorite painting. If you share your story in the comments please include a link to the painting if at all possible.
Mine:
Painting: Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace at Night
The constable is speaking with the woman in the white bonnet again, you can't help but notice them together. The charged air surrounding them, the way they practically dance as they speak, the life and laughter in their faces, they draw the eye.
Every Sunday night their play comes to life when the constable arrives on his rounds. He performs a perfunctory survey of the cafe before lingering by the jewelry shop across the way. She arrives second, as always. Sometimes within moments, often after minutes, rarely much later, but she always arrives.
I recall one Sunday she was very late and he looked so downtrodden that, I swear to you my friends, the shop lights seemed to dim around him! Oh, and when she did appear? The jewelry store shone a most blinding light! I could hardly see my customers, on my honor!
His excuse to be there is obvious but what of hers? Coming home from work? She doesn't look like a waitress. It is too late for groceries, too early for tomorrows newspaper.
And why the need for excuses? Perhaps he is married, or she is, or both! If so it is a terrible crime against love. A blind man could see they belong together. The stars are brighter for the fifteen minutes a week these two meteors come together. We all fade, become less when they separate.
Yes sir, another coffee, of course. I'll be right along with... oh is it time for them to part already? Yes, the dance slows, the lights grow weaker, the night colder. She turns and glides away, her long skirt collecting the dust, dirt and memories of this street.
And we are all poorer for her leaving, but none poorer than the constable.
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