Im washing two days worth of dishes by hand while Ewan sits at the table drawing. I hear him say, Finished, and look over my shoulder to see what hes doing. He inspects his work, eyes moving back and forth across the page, and with my hands still in the sink, I watch his face change from stone determination to sheer delight. Ewan then sits up from his bent position, kisses each of his biceps, and lays his pencil down next to his drawing pad. I.am.an.artist, he says, just like my dad. {heart swells}
Posted on: Thu, 09 Oct 2014 03:07:17 +0000
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