Fantasy
The Wizard’s Magic Paintings
The old wizard rode into the village on a wagon that appeared as ancient as he did. The wagon was full of blank canvases. Stopping in the center of the village, the wizard stood.
“My friends, I am Delinea. I have with me magic canvases that will paint themselves. I will part with them for a small bit of silver or a good dinner.”
“Show me,” the village blacksmith said.
“Gladly,” the wizard replied.
The wizard climbed down from his wagon, took a canvas and easel out of the back, and set them up.
“Come and put your hand on the canvas,” he said to the blacksmith.
The blacksmith cautiously approached the canvas.
“I assure you, it will be painless,” the wizard said.
The blacksmith placed his hand on the canvas. Nothing happened.
“Step away and behold real magic,” the wizard said.
The blacksmith removed his hand and stepped back.
Slowly, single strokes of colors began appearing on the canvas as if being painted by an invisible artist and brush. In five minutes, the painting was complete. It was a scene of a small cabin by a lake. Sitting by the lake was a young boy fishing.
