Monet was on his way to see me.
I know he was out of time.
His place in time.
No one recognized Claude at my cafe.
He commented on the poor coffee.
He delighted in chocolate cake.
It was his first trip to the American Rockies.
We discussed a lake outing.
Cobalt blue at high altitude.
He worried about carrying
his materials, pastels, paints
and easel the five miles of ascending trail.
I told him I had arranged for llamas
to carry his supplies
and our camping gear.
Claude asked if Picasso had contacted me yet.
He knew Pablo wanted to be first.
But was away on safari with Papa.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney