Mom and I went to pay my school fees today, and after that we went to a quilting store in the northwest before lunch. It's a quiet little store, a bit cramped, and colorful ceiling to floor.
We spent about forty minutes there, while Mom looked around and talked to an employee about a sewing machine she sort of wants to buy, if she ever gets the money. (It's an embroidery machine, and costs around eight grand.) I spent my time just amusing myself by poking at stuff, as I've learned to do over many years of being dragged along on excursions to fabric and quilting stores. (At least Mom no longer drags my hands off the crushed velvet, chanting, "Look with your eyes, not with your hands!" Apparently it's okay to look with your hands if you're an adult.)
In one corner, I spotted a painting, and headed over to look at it. It was a landscape, a mountaintop scene: very pretty. I spent some time looking at the brush-strokes up close, and I was especially interested in the way the artist had done the clouds. The edges had been feathered so that they had that perfect wispy look. Then:
( Click. )