The Writer and The Artist

I watch him draw from across the room. He makes it look so easy. He moves the pencil so gracefully. It's like the the pencil is an extension of his hand. As the pencil glides across the paper so effortlessly, like a leaf falling from a tree. The way he draws is almost like a dance. The way he moves his hand, every finger one by one, it is as beautiful as ballroom dancing When he draws his fingers almost look like they are prancing. He has such precision in every stroke. He loves to draw, to him it's no joke. It's his art, his passion. It's a a part of him he can't let go. Sometimes he will make a mistake he has to erase. But like a dancer that falls he picks the pencil back up. He creates some the most beautiful drawings I ever have seen. He finishes his drawing then walks over to me and says "I couldn't create anything without you. You are my inspiration. You are my muse. When I'm with you I'm inspired to draw, to create" I say "I feel the same about you. When I think of you the words just flow" I'm writer. He's an artist. We make a good team. He says " wait here for a second and close your eyes." A second later he says "look, I have surprise" I look down and I see a beautiful drawing of me. He drew a picture of me with my pen and journal in hand. I was writing about him as he was drawing me. Neither of us knew it. I take it as evidence we are meant to be. The writer and the artist go together seamlessly. (c) Angela Burnett 2016