Requim

Reflections

Bar Harbor, Maine 1989

It was a small town and, as is usual with small towns, people rarely asked questions. An outsider was noticeable outside the summertime, but nonetheless people went about their business. This was exactly what Gregory wanted. He wanted solitude, a place to work and be left alone. This was the perfect place. It was no wonder so many artists and writers found a home here. For him, it was home for the moment. Currently, he was a painter. A painter by profession that is, though his artistic abilities heavily succeeded just that. Gregory had had a very long time to develop his talents. Even with the things he had seen in an amazing span of time, Gregory still thought paint against brush, creating an image of beauty (or pain, and on exquisite occasion, both), to be the most magical thing in the world. Most people, not having seen the thing he had seen or done the things he had done, would agree.