His cottage looked out to the waves and the sky. Paints, brushes, and canvasses in varying states of completion filled the space. His lonely time on the bluff fueled creative landscapes highly prized by art lovers.
Then one day, the woman with the black hair knocked on his door. Now, he lay idle, his fingers mingled loosely in those raven strands, inspiration long evaporated in a haze of romance.
“Today, my love? Please, pick up your brush again,” she coaxed.
He knew he was done with landscapes.
He stared into her sapphire eyes. New inspiration flickered.
“Yes, today,” he smiled.