Dragon Back Mountain

The views of our hikes always compensated for the flaws of the week.  We could see the ocean water gracefully crashing into the reef at a distance.  The brother mountains bowing down as we sat at the top of mother mountain.  I would trace the outline of the mountains with my finger memorizing each stroke and shade of color for my attempt on canvas I would do after each hike.

“Don’t blame nature,” he would preach to me after I explain to him how this week´s painting differed from the last.

“I just don’t get it,” I said as I nodded my head in disapproval.

“I think your attempt to tame nature in one painting is elusive. Change is the only constant.”

“Just like you.” He rubbed his thumb on my chin. “You are God´s art, but it would be an insult if I said you are the same person as you were last week. We all change, our perception changes.  Be courageous and embrace those changes you can and cannot see. “

That was 5 years ago.  That was before I turned legally blind.

My mind was in a dark abyss. I felt unworthy of many things including my husband and painting.

One day, we both decided to hike. As our feet rumbled through the autumn leaves, I heard twigs breaking and birds chirping. The ocean´s saltiness diffused in the air, the sound of the waves echoed through my ears.  I was reminded that I wasn´t alone as my husband gently grabbed my index finger with his hand, swinging my finger in the air gracefully- up, down, zig-zag… I understood.

“Are we painting?” I asked curiously.

His silence was his fear of my reaction.

“Can we continue?  Show me what´s out on the ocean.” He placed a brush in my hand, and I held it tightly. His warm sweaty hand guiding my wrist, as we both painted in the air.

“Can we go buy some canvas after this?”, I asked softly.

I couldn´t see it, but I knew he was smiling.