Conditioned Response

To the adults passing by on the street, the house was an eye-sore; gutted and crumbling and fallen victim to trapped anger with a paint can. The child saw beauty where others turned away. The yellow of sunshine, the blue of the ocean, the black of night, red like the hearts he drew for his mother, and all against a backdrop of the green grass he loved to tumble in before dinner time. There were dreams there. Dreams for a youth with hopes of following the curving words around the next bend. Someday he would build his own foundation, muting the riot of color with the serenity of promise and a childhood spent searching the wonders of the human condition.

April Gilford

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(This is a collaborative project where I invite guest writers to write about what comes to their mind and heart when they look at one of my images. I want to thank April for her marvelous words and contribution to this post. If you want to read more of April's great writings, I highly recommend you to visit one of her blogs...and do visit often! Thank you, April!)