A Million Words
There is a silent explosion of color bursting across the page as her brush breathes life into the canvas. Each stroke carries the weight of a thousand words. Each color is another chapter in the story. I don't have the talent to paint a book like she does. I could never manipulate a medium like she does. She lets me watch her fashion a flowering garden from water and pigment. She doesn't mind that I stare as she forms a rock into a goddess. How does a two-dimensional peony elicit such emotion? Why does a piece of twisted clay make me weep? How do her hands communicate more than a million words ever will?
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