My friend Jen has a post about a painting from her youth that touched her. I promised her I would post a photo of a painting of my childhood favorite. My grandmother bought this and then my mom got it from her. It graced the wall over our couch for a long time. I would spend hours starting at it wondering what that girl’s name was, did she have any friends. I grew up in a subdivision and thought this girl must be lonely. Then I would try and figure out how did she get that bird to land on the porch, how far were those mountains from her house and did she swim in that lake? Did she have brothers like me that had died? Did she make up stories too? Art is fantastic. So many feelings from someone else’s vision. I’m so happy my mom let me have this painting. It’s hanging in my bedroom and even know I find myself wondering…does she know the person who’s about to kidnap her?