Blue

Harter Fall

There was a strange magic about that new painting he had bought. Mesmerized, he would spend hours staring at it. For some incomprehensible reason, each time he looked at it, he would see something completely different. Sometimes it was only a button challenging gravity, other times it was a spaceship. It was also a teleporter, an eye, a blue sun.

“What is behind that blue, Dad?” his six years son asked one day. He didn’t know what to reply. “It looks sad.”

“Why? It’s such a beautiful blue,” he answered, puzzled by the unexpected comment. 
“Well, Dad. Look. There are no people.”

“But how do you know? The people could be inside the spaceships.”

“Dad, do you see anyone?” his son asked impatient.

He shook his head.

“There you go,” he replied raising both arms in the air and exiting the room triumphantly.

It is good to be six years old.