Cold, chilly, windy, wet,

I watch as the rain flies by.

Quiet, calm, warm, cozy,

I sit in my room and sigh. 

Wafting tendrils of clove,

The scent reaches my nostrils,

Enticing me to sit.

The blank canvas is ready,

The cool paint smells heady,

Sliding on my fingertips.

The brush bristles are stiff,

Pushing paint on the canvas,

Bright colors mixing fast,

The painting coming to life.

I sit back and observe,

The door is showing new worlds,

Places I'll never be.

Imagination run wild,

With a mind like a child,

Painting envelopes me.