In a darkened room in an unknown place a beam of light shone on a blank canvas. In front of the canvas was an old man. He selected his favourite brush with the wooden handle and the golden bristles. Dipping it into the ink of time he moved his hand towards the canvas. Gently pressing he moved the brush from one edge towards the other. As the brush moved its bristles revealed a deep blue sky and a molten yellow sun. The peace and tranquillity only broken by the squabbling seagulls drifting endlessly on the thermals that habited that lofty place. The brush moved on and mountains appeared covered in white surrounded by trees that danced in the wind that endlessly blew. The brush slowed and the painter eased his hand. He lifted the brush and placed it back on the canvas to cross once again. A small red hut appeared with a wooden boat lying just in front. Next, a white house with children playing in a garden full of flowers. Then a church with towering steeple standing proud declaring to the world the belief of the people. The brush continued. A place full of memories where people arrive and never leave. Slowing again the brush changed direction for its final stoke. A turquoise sea with fish darting between the rocks hiding from hunting Dolphins. Finally the brush revealed bright red crabs crawling across the rocks on a multicoloured seabed. Finally the brush stopped. The painter lifted it gently from the canvas and put it back into the pot. The beam of light dimmed and all was dark waiting on the light of life to begin another day.