Background: This section of Wisp is written from Mela's perspective. Mela is a Guide in the Spirit Realm and able to visit other realms, such as the Community Realm where Abraham lives. This is the first time she is visiting her husband (Abraham), who abandoned her and their daughter Maven years prior.
His dark brown wavy hair is being whipped by the wind. With wet paint brush in hand, he thrashes and swirls on his canvas. He has set this easel up at the edge of a dock, on a lake that is usually still as glass, but on this day there is enough wind to create the smallest swirl on the top level of water. The water makes a gentle crashing noise onto the wood planks below him. Birds are making music in the tree tops, camouflaged by the full coverage of hunter green leaves. I float over the water, at the end of the dock, facing him. He has gotten more handsome with age. His wavy hair is now speckled with salt and pepper. Smile lines frame the edges of his eyes.
He keeps his steady focus. I am in awe of him—as I always have been. His spirit is a magnet to mine. His pull is intense and uplifting. I am not sure if anyone has ever held his heart as tightly as his grasp on mine.
I rotate to take in all of his being. I am gentle in my float around him. My eyes finally are able to flitter off of him and toward the strokes of his brush. He is not painting his beautiful natural surroundings. He is not painting nature at all. I float backward to take in his work and then am pulled inward. Those eyes, those hauntingly beautiful eyes. I know those eyes. I have seen the soul of those eyes—Maven.
His dark brown wavy hair is being whipped by the wind. With wet paint brush in hand, he thrashes and swirls on his canvas. He has set this easel up at the edge of a dock, on a lake that is usually still as glass, but on this day there is enough wind to create the smallest swirl on the top level of water. The water makes a gentle crashing noise onto the wood planks below him. Birds are making music in the tree tops, camouflaged by the full coverage of hunter green leaves. I float over the water, at the end of the dock, facing him. He has gotten more handsome with age. His wavy hair is now speckled with salt and pepper. Smile lines frame the edges of his eyes.
He keeps his steady focus. I am in awe of him—as I always have been. His spirit is a magnet to mine. His pull is intense and uplifting. I am not sure if anyone has ever held his heart as tightly as his grasp on mine.
I rotate to take in all of his being. I am gentle in my float around him. My eyes finally are able to flitter off of him and toward the strokes of his brush. He is not painting his beautiful natural surroundings. He is not painting nature at all. I float backward to take in his work and then am pulled inward. Those eyes, those hauntingly beautiful eyes. I know those eyes. I have seen the soul of those eyes—Maven.