Home is like this doctor sitting in front of me wearing a loose, plain blue shirt. Home is like the fan rotating lazily above me. In here the silence takes on a certain denseness, once you cross the door from the waiting area into his office. It’s a small room, green walls closing in on you. Continue reading “A Painting in Tranquil”
Denrele is always pitched at the left corner whenever I come into the class to teach. His stare is vague. It is not questioning or expectant like those from the other students. His eyes suggest hope, but it is one tempered by experience. He doesn’t have to sit apart from the other students for one to notice that he is older than all of them, but he does. His large frame and brush-like stubble already say so.
There is a carriage that blatantly betrays a determined spirit. Continue reading “Painting Denrele”