A beautiful fairground in the 1940’s….I was floating through my current destination very slowly, taking in all the colors, sights and sounds.
In the back, among wrapped-up carousel horses, likely back-ups for the merry-go-round’s usual horses, was an artist standing with all sorts of glorious paint colors. In front of him stood a “blank” carousel horse — completely white, with only molding showing where the details would go.
And I felt, from that artist, a heavy heart…perhaps from something someone said to him, something that happened to him. It was the heart with an invisible stab wound.
And here he was, supposed to make something beautiful — something awe-inspiring — when he felt anything but inspired in his harsh world.
But I knew he would do it. Being a person of light is hard. You can mistrust everyone. You can question everything. But in the end, you do it…because there’s nothing else for you to do that fits.