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Dianne Owen A drop of paint looked thoughtfully at the drawing ...


A drop of paint looked thoughtfully at the drawing ...
She knew that she was left alone ... that all her friends had long ago settled on paper ... took on bizarre forms, penetrated each other, dissolving in colorful patterns ... and waited for her ...
She heard their voices, but could not decide ...
"This way," thought Kaply, looking at the crack of the brown paint, which seemed to scream under the gusts of wind in the picture, and was ready to break .... And only a barely noticeable purple line kept her in place. - No. I do not need it here. "




The drop looked a little higher, where the colors were fast, uneven strokes and were chaotically mixed, forming heavy long shadows and barely perceptible glimpses of light. There were a few colors and shades, and all of them, amplifying and complementing each other, sounded like rumbles of a nearby storm.
"Br ..." The drop cringed. "Perhaps there's nothing for me to do there." - She firmly clung to the tip of the brush. "
But at that moment someone's hand easily pushed it, and the Drop was just below the darkest, almost black clouds.
The drop shrank ....



But here, ... the tip of the brush lightly tickled it, and it spread out in all directions in thin rays, illuminating heavy, leaden clouds, dark olive greens and the trees, torn by the gusts of wind.
"That's all. - thought Kaplya, and smiling happily, reached for the last, the furthest, darkest corner, and ... dropped a sun glare on the sheet that shone after the storm. "

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