Painting a vase of flowers,
Brush on canvas, about to start a masterpiece.
The artist stops, apprehension in his silent pause,
Contemplating, visualising a hundred potential paths.
He looks intently at this still life before him,
The sun makes the petals blur.
The wind moves the leaves to stir.
And on a scale of the minutiae,
The flowers grow,
The rose and the daffodil,
Side by side.
He puts brush to canvas,
And makes the first move,
And thinks within,
This is not still life,
This is moving, inspirational life.
Ever growing, ever-changing.