once upon a time, on a quiet street, in a rather deserted part of town, someone slipped in one night and hung a painting on the side of a building.

it was a large painting, the kind that makes you feel small when you stand in front of it.

the unusual thing about this painting – though perhaps this is not so unusual at all – is that no two people could agree on what they saw in it.

you might stand in front of the painting and see a ship, far out at sea, sliding up and down waves the size of mountains.

your sister might see a magnificent oak tree in the middle of a meadow; the tall grass is waving back and forth in the wind and it looks like it is bowing to the tree.

your neighbor might see a basket of pears sitting on a counter, impossibly ripe and glistening in the sun.

your teacher might see a looking glass, reflecting back a beautiful, strong, wise woman.

i guess the most unusual thing about the painting is how tangible its effect is on its viewers.

you smell the salt of the sea and hear the roar of the waves and want to shout as exhilaration rushes through your body. your sister feels the earth beneath her feet and the soft brush of the grass against her skin. your neighbor can taste the ripe pears on her tongue and smell the crisp fall air. your teacher feels seen, heard, respected.

i don’t know what each of you would see in the painting but, if you see it one day, i’d love to find out.