Shelly came across the painter as he paused his work. “It’s lovely,” she said.
“Not my best,” the old man groused. “I wanted the clouds to have that scalloped effect and catch the red, but they turned out overcast.” He painted some arcing bird wings. Shelly heard their cries abruptly overhead.
“It looks just like the real thing.”
The man bristled. “Well, of course!” he snapped. “I’ll try again tomorrow, I suppose. There’s always another sunset. Work, work, work.” Before Shelly could respond, he stood and rolled up the canvas. Shelly cried out as the horizon crumpled and folded away…