This one was inspired by the same picture that An Artist's Memory came from. I couldn't decide which I wanted to write, so I wrote them both.
My fingers traced the lines of the painting. I remembered creating it. It was before she was gone.
Baby hands clapped while a sing-song voice shouted, "Momma!"
My hands dropped; I fought back tears. I wanted my baby girl to remember her momma with happy smiles, not sad tears. She was too small to remember her at all.
My heart shattered again.
She'd never see her twinkling eyes, never watch her dance and sing crazily through the house. She'd never help her hang blankets on the line to dry- claiming nothing smelled as good as sunshine. She was right- she'd always smelled wild and carefree, like a sunny summer day.
The years passed quickly and my baby changed from a chubby cherub to a beautiful lady. Her bare toes peeked from beneath the hem of her jeans as she danced crazily through the house, singing at the top of her lungs. She was wild and free like her mother.
My eyes traveled to the picture over the mantle. I could see her in my daughter- from her looks to the way she appreciated life. Time for another masterpiece. This one to hang beside her mother's portrait.