She was walking around the art museum finding nothing she really felt like examining.
She was sulky, not feeling bright or happy and wanted something to match her mood.
She came upon Joseph Burchfield's paintings.
The ones that were colorful and painted in water color, but one caught her eye.
The one that was off to the side, the dark morbid looking one.
The little card on the side read: "The Quiet Pond" by Joseph Burchfield, not dated.
Her eyes glided back to the painting.
Dark reds and greens made up the somber trees that stood up against a clouded gray sky.
The grass along the banks of the body of water was a different shade of green, nothing like the color of the trees.
The pond itself sat in the middle of this sorrowful scene, its waters dark and opaque.
It sat there, without a disturbance to ripple it’s still waters mirroring its surroundings and her mood.
She couldn't help, but realize this was what her emotions were feeling like.
She took a snap shot of it and walked away, but not without a look behind her shoulder to the picture that mirrored her feelings.
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