Deep rivers of destiny

Deep River of Destiny.
She sat behind her easel. As she looked from her painting to the scene
before her she tapped pensively with the paintbrush on her bottom lip.
The Watercolour was beautiful she'd get a reasonable price for this
one. Yet still there was something missing.

Today was one of those clean spring mornings where the world looks as
though it has been given a new lick of paint. A sort of make over to
refresh it after the harsh winter had battered and peeled its
paintwork. The palette of nature seemed freshly mixed with the flourish
of a flamboyant artist.

This was her favourite place. The Crook-of-Lune on the outskirts of
Lancaster. She had walked past the widest part of the river, the
'Elbow' where hoards of visitors would flock in another two months for
their Easter picnics. Moving instead a few hundred yards further down,
to a little frequented place where the river narrowed considerably.
Here the stately Oaks bowed their heads, newly grown locks entwining to
whisper their secrets to each other across the width of the
water.

The bank on the far side led to a gently wooded copse. Here the light,
yellow greens of oak and beech, gave way to the rich density of
emeralds and jade. The bank itself a tarpaulin of bluebell and grape
hyacinths. The purple blanket interspersed and broken by occasional
clumps of reluctant to leave snowdrops. Midground between bank and
copse a battalion of daffodils stand sentry duty, but they are too
yellow to stand still in the gentle breeze that chides them into
dance.
All this she had captured beautifully, blurring the daffodils to
produce their movement, layering the texture, adding colour to colour,
water to wash.

The river itself had been more of a challenge. Predominantly white.
The water here still churning from the weir as it roller coasts down to
its rest. White pony's emulating their elder brothers of the sea,
cantering and bucking as they spend themselves frolicking over the
rocks, sending up manes of spray and tails of restless foam.

Seal pup grey, and a mist of violet smeared charcoal form the spirit of
the deep water beneath the churns. The merest hint of reflection in the
calm surface as it leaves the canvas at its edge.
Still she was unsaited by her morning's labour. Still there was
something missing.

The picture was finished. Nature had filled the canvas to perfection,
nothing more was needed, and yet...

Inspiration flooded her and she bent, brush gliding fluidly over
already drying paint. First she stroked in the collie. A big beast
painted in profile, honey coat feathers blurred in motion, long snout
pointing the way ahead. Then she began on his master. The man who had
invaded her dreams. She painted more slowly now, finer more detailed
lines. His long dark hair, that hit his collar and then flipped as
though unable to stop in time. The face that creased with each smile.
This was no boy, he was early forties and had forged and moulded his
character. She painted his personality into each stroke of
creation.

She leaned back on her stool. Allowing her cramped muscles to ease and
stretch. She was done. Finished. Satisfied.
She raised her head, showing her face to the weak struggling sun, and
then she focused on the dog rounding the bend and flying full pelt
towards her. She rose and moved to meet the dog, half in genuine
pleasure, and half in fear of her precious picture being knocked off
it's easel and ruined.

The collision was joyous, and wet, and wonderful. The sable and white
rough collie flung himself at her, bending double in a rapture of
accepted affection. He chuffed happily, delighted with his choice of
new friend.

The man was striding into view. His voice intoned with concern and
horror, as he watched his fool of a dog molest another river
visitor.

"Oh no. Harrison. No. Down boy. You get here now you bad dog."

The dog looked at her, grinned inanely and chuffed, as if to say "Oh
don't worry about him, he's mine and quite tame."

She knew before she looked up it was him. It had to be didn't it? The
man with destiny in his eyes.