The evening stroked
and for a moment colors
separated,
distinct,
no amalgamation.
It was only a moment
and I remembered my dad
dipping a thin brush point.
There sat a row of attached plastic urns
each slightly bigger than a thimble
with a number assigned to each color.
The image lay bare
like a cartographers’ map of a lake.
Numbers in the center of turquoise outlines.
It was only a moment
then memories amalgamated
and my dad and my son
bled across the lines
in the sunset.
These are a couple of Paint by Number images I recall. I have been reassessing what it means to be a dad and last night the evening skies triggered a memory. So much room to grow.
Gerald the Writer 
Thanks for sharing, you have a great way with words.
Thank you Wanda. Peace.
Beautiful
Thank you for visiting…and thank you.
I remember this. The problem came when I tried to draw free hand. Then all sense of proportion and perspective couldn’t be brought to the canvas.
Ha!
lovely memory…i tried painting by numbers..but yeah… maybe you can guess what happened..smiles
I don’t see you as one to stay within the lines. 🙂
Dale and I have 3 pictures we painted by #. They are still available by Mary Maxim out of Port Huron.