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Female contemporary drawing and painting of a figure contemplating life on the edge of bed in the morning with a poppy flower ceramic vase mountain landscape in the vista beyond outside. Reminiscent of a story called The Poet's House, "I never saw my father cry," she said once to her mother, who was trying hard not to be cross because the girl had come home late again." But he always looked sad when I left for school." She smiled at him then; it was all right now that they were back together, even if they were just going down the road to his house, which meant nothing really except that there was no one else around. It seemed as if the sky were very blue today, or maybe the trees had turned yellow instead of green. The air smelled good. He was driving fast—she didn't mind—and she leaned against him, holding on tight. This was in the early 50s, and times felt fresh after so bleak a point in history. The wind whipping reminded him of the wind snapping at the tail end of his fighter i...