The Painter

He opens his eyes

Stretches

And yawns

He pulls out his soft bristled brush

And dips it into his silky paint

He streaks the rosy pink

Across the baby blue of the sky

He rummages through his paints

And pulls out a soft orange

He blends it in with the pink

Until the colors are so intertwined together

You can't tell when one ends and the other begins

The painter steps back

And takes in his masterpiece

The sky is his canvas

And the dusk is his muse