https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/438822

The Repast of the Lion

Second Granddaughter – 05/03/21

…repast, an interesting word, she thought, and as she had been taught, she looked it up, and it meant a meal, a feast maybe, something to eat…well how about that!  And yes, she could see that the lion was eating something…oh, yech…there was blood all over whatever he was eating…yech and double-yech!  But…maybe this was a dream, a painting of a dream, for the flowers are so big and tall, nothing that she had ever seen for real, and maybe the lion was just small like a grasshopper in the grass, for that also could be true in a dream, as true as things could be in a dream…and yet dreams are not true, they are…well, she hadn’t thought about what dreams really were before, so maybe they were…wishes or fears, or feelings about something, or…maybe things only partially seen, or vaguely felt, like the wings of a bird that brushes by when you have fallen asleep on a summer afternoon outside in a hammock, with a book still open upon your breast, where it had gently come to rest as your mind and eyes bid it part.  And even now, sitting upon the deck looking over the mown lawn and to the trees lining the edges of the large pond not too far in the distance, that now her eyes began to close, and she knew that dreams may come upon her, like the dreams of the postcard, so she got up and went into the house to find a repast of her own, but nothing bloody like this one, hopefully, just ice cream…

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Postcard Stories – Writing In The Shade Of Trees