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A Windmill In The Moonlight
A poem about a painter who photographs windmills in the moonlight. He handled the existence in solitude extremely well.
Blue had transitioning into black at 16.55,
moonlight was lighting up an existence of solitude,
no one else would visit the hidden beauty of the windmill at this moment,
the painter he knew, dark red hues always do wonders combined with moonlight.
The lonely painter wanted a new journey, a journey with a lot of darkness,
he knew that darkness combined with hues and moonlight, is special for many reasons but the biggest being in its beauty,
therefore he set out for many evenings in a row, to visit the windmill during a full moon in the middle of November,
he knew exactly where to find inspiration, where to be alone in beautiful light and in its solitude.
A painter sees what’s not being seen, he connects what cannot be connected, and immortalises it onto canvas.
the process he imagined being beautiful so he lived it in beauty himself,
sometimes it attracted others, this powerful mind believing in nothing but beauty around him,
this evening there was no one outside in the cold, right here in…
