L.N. Alberts

*Inspired by The Skiff by Pierre-Auguste Renoir* Image From  The National Gallery By LN Alberts A myriad of color burst free with every stroke, spoiling the gentle flush painted on her cheek. No longer a reflection, still waters now awoke, a dance across the surface where sun and air meet. The tepid summer breeze offers little respite, from the oppressive pass of Helios at noon. “A jaunty trip” she offers, ever so polite. No destination, no time set. Our return? “Soon.” Free from the shores that threaten to hem us in, we find a peacefulness among the trout and duck. The baneful suitors’ glares no longer count our sin as we swap stories of the ancient heroes’ luck. “Odysseus cannot compare,” she insists to me, “to the clever tricks of Circes and her magic spell.” Intent to prove the creation of a fallacy, in the so-called epic that Homer tried to sell. I listen with a patient ear to her fierce defense, and cannot help admiring her impassioned plea. Within a woman’s heart there ...

By LN Alberts I see him clear as day, through my childish view, but stepping back, my gaze wizened, seeing the world from his shoes. I see a very different place, his life so unfamiliar. It's then when I realize, he's more than a father figure.   Through my father's eyes, he is a husband, trusted friend, to a beautiful, loving bride, her devotion without end. Through my father's eyes, he is a son and stalwart brother, needed to stand side by side by family and others. Through my father's eyes, he is a generous stranger. Giving of his time and strength, despite the cost and danger. Through my father's eyes, he is a trusted employee. Always dedicated and loyal, loathe to finally leave. My father was a gentle soul, who found true peace at last. His time ended here on earth, so I admire him from his past.

By LN Alberts Buried deep in the wooded glade, the hunter lies statue still. His ever watchful eyes searching for movement on the hill. A pair of fawns, carefree and spry, dance across the lawn. Their clever games and joyful noises greeting the coming dawn. The hunter grins, his spirit high, when they begin to chase each other. A doe follows cautiously, ears alert, their fiercely protective mother. His hands itch to raise his gun, but his enraptured gaze remains. The innocent way they play reminds him of his own. Still asleep in their beds, waiting for him to come home. Sunlight peeks through leaves, as the darkness gently wanes. A reproachful grunt of the doe, signals her disapproval. The fawns, undaunted, bound away, unmoved by her scruple. The hunter's heartbeat quickens, his opportunity soon will fade. He grips his rifle tightly, easing it to his shoulder blade. Silently, he leans into position, aligning his sight just so. And he is rewarded for his hesitation, with the fleeing...