leather-bound-journal:

He stared at the blank canvas sitting on the easel. The blankness staring back was just taunting. The new tubes of acrylic and oil paints laid on the bench were seducing him. His old, messy brushes rested in their home of jars, cups, and even a vase.

He sighed and leaned against his stool with a warm mug of green tea in his hand. Peach, the calico that he rescued from the flood, walked in and meowed softly. He stooped down to pet her.

“Thanks Peach.”

She walked away and hopped onto the window sill. The sun was just beginning to set, but the city line was gorgeous. The shadows fell and sky began to turn pink. He frantically searched for his SLR camera and snapped a photo.

Then he instinctively shoved three brushes into his back pocket and grabbed the nearest usable pencil and began to sketch.