The Painter


painting by my mom, Reba Hansen

With a single stroke of her brush she paints the first word of the line

Each brush stroke adds more words over time

The paintings will tell a story without saying a word

Doesn’t matter it it’s a landscape or of a single bird

What will she paint? She wonders as she starts from scratch

She contemplates every color, how to mix and match

Acrylic, water, oil, or some kind of gloss

She looks at the wall, drawing her inspiration from the cross

A bluebird lands on her window sill and sings a song

A smile comes over her face, she knows her studio is where she belongs

A squirrel grabs a nut and takes a seat

Watching every brush stroke as it has it’s own beat

A rabbit sneaks in the door,

Watching her as she paints more

Her technique is as unique to her as she is unique to God

A deer peeks in the window, the beauty has him awed

A little green there, add some orange and brown

She looks at the animals gathered around

She adds some pink and red, and a touch of blue

She says to my vision I must be true

She looks at the painting, yes, it is complete

She looks down at the dog laying at her feet

Well, boy, what do you think?

He wags his tail and gives her a wink

She wonders where she would be without God’s love

At that moment, like God was listening, in flew a white dove

She whistles a tune from a time when she was in a different place

Then she starts to sing, the hour I first believed, amazing grace


paintings my mom, Reba Hansen





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