Art of the Dream
Oil on Canvas
It was yellow and it’s kiss was a spikey; a non rapturous bird. The yellow feathered vertebrate momentarily lingered in the thoughts from the nights dreams. Rescued by the do-gooder artist from the jaws of a scornful, scoffing, and sneering canine mongrel, hell bent on altering the life and airborne course of this winged angel. The dog, living up to its pedigree and a millennium of conditioned responses, eyed my yellow feathered friend as the prime target of chomping desire. The artist dreaming vision could not stand by with brush in hand, and the spatial agility that only a state of deep sleep can provide. The rescuer, the savior, mounted the attack on the charging titan. In a whimper, the mêlée was over. My new yellow flying friend rewarded the rescuer with a spiked kiss on the dreaming artists lips.
