A beautiful view, of course, don’t get me wrong, but I have spent my life staring out my kitchen window; the beauty has grown old.
I’ve raised dogs, cats, children and one man. Happily; quietly; meekly. And they have all left me for other kitchens or the grave.
I’ve seen generation after generation of sheep come and go to the slaughter; I’ve seen the fields change season so many times they’ve blurred together and become meaningless.
I need to get out.
Now I stare at scenes displayed in the world’s art galleries.
And I meet people and discuss.
Endlessly discuss.
I’ve raised dogs, cats, children and one man. Happily; quietly; meekly. And they have all left me for other kitchens or the grave.
I’ve seen generation after generation of sheep come and go to the slaughter; I’ve seen the fields change season so many times they’ve blurred together and become meaningless.
I need to get out.
Now I stare at scenes displayed in the world’s art galleries.
And I meet people and discuss.
Endlessly discuss.
Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt:
