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by Ann Thornfield-Long Claude Monet stands on a tower of years watching intently the light reflecting from your brown eyes. He wants to see if you believe the tiny lashes of his color-laden brush as he conjures for you the suggestion of a figure struggling uphill in the formal dress of an itchy, wool suit. Do you feel the man pressing against the gravity of public opinion? What is, and what is not, art? Does the sun pummel your neck as it does his? He hopes you notice among yellow blossoms his asymmetrical arm aching from holding the brush for hours as he dabs kisses of color on the cheek of canvas? He is pleased when you wonder if the path is really sheltered, or if the man who carries the burden of genius must walk miles before he receives the slaking comfort of shade. (After viewing the painting "The Sheltered Path" by Claude Monet.)
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