I reached the last story of Gene Wilder's book about a week ago, but I had not yet read it.
It was one of the longest in the book, so I knew I was really going to like it.
How had I known?
Well, it's like when you go to a concert and the band makes sure to play a crowd favorite at the end, so everyone will go home happy and looking forward to the next time the band is in town.
I knew this hopeful-romantic author would want to give the reader a truly romantic tale as that last one, a tale to savor.
Now was the time for me to finally read that last story in Wilder's book of love stories.
"Passion" was the title, but it was a slow-building fire, going from a warm glow to a blaze that consumed all...
and it did so because of a painting seen by chance in a museum...
the same painting that hangs in my living room...
a final gift from my stepdad of something that had been Mama's favorite.
When the story spoke its name, I actually had to get up and go into my living room to look at it, to see what the author was describing, to feel the fire from those depicted:
"Dance At Bougival".
Wow.
i thank You, God.
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