She's so very lovely sitting wrapped in the morning light. Her hands so delicate and small and yet she continues to craft her passion. Demurely she raises her eyes above the canvass to stare at me and whispers, "please be still bella so I can capture your every nuance." As I smile just looking at her face, she whispers, "that's the magic for which we search; the green earth flourishing in your eyes." Her garden is a hamish nest from which no bird would want to leave and being with my mother is a performance filled with ease. I asked her why she had never painted me before, and she replied, "my masterpiece was awaiting an element of surprise; that one rare moment when I could glimpse myself in your eyes."