Palette
When God grew tired of precision — of tracing, line by line, the sharp silhouettes of mountains; of mixing endless blues to capture the restless moods of the sea; of flicking his brush to scatter white sparks across the black stillness of night — he paused, the weight of creation heavy in his hands.
Frustration stirred. With a sudden, human kind of impatience, he hurled his palette at the canvas. The colors burst and spilled, tumbling into chaos — gold bleeding into crimson, green dissolving into amber, the hues colliding in wild, careless beauty.
God stepped back, stunned by what he saw. The accidental masterpiece shimmered before him — vibrant, fleeting, alive.
He smiled, half in wonder, half in irony, and called it Fall.
Shenandoah National Park, Virginia
