Winter is not for the old. One miss step on a piece of ice or slippery tile on the bathroom floor and down you go a bone to break.
It’s time to think of sunnier times when we were young and bounced of hard places with no more than a bruise. When we skipped through the fields with a hey and a ho,. No thoughts of ever getting old of broken bones and misplaced hips but sights of birds in flight as one ran through their hallowed turf, and fish that scattered when young bodies entered their watery domain with a resounding splash. So lets go back to that time, that only art can do through a painting, to those carefree times of warmth and joy. To the time of a little boy.