It was just one piece, shuffled back toward the wall in a stack of twenty plus nameless works of art, some beautiful, some not. The frame, worn white painted wood, was my initial interest, and waiting for my wife to find a new set of clothes to try in the fitting room, I was game for any distraction.

A single white swan, alight calm waters, freshly whitewashed gondola some ways behind, leafed trees framing from each the other side. And my brain clicked to the moment. The swan bobbed as the pond lapped, the chirp of birds filtered in from somewhere deep in the foliage. Then the PA system squawked something about an associate being needed somewhere or another, and the moment was gone. I looked back to the picture to find it, but it was elusive.

My girl was wandering my way anyway, five-foot-something of wit, charm, and sex, with a cart full of color to put to the test. For all the world, I wouldn’t miss the chance to watch her dress and undress repeatedly. Certainly not for a swan.

But thirty-something minutes later, I found myself again, this time her in tow, flipping through the tattered frames, and pulling aside the one that had connected with me, once upon a time now past. And now searching her eyes as she looked upon it, hoping to see that same some flicker of recognition as it locked with her soul as it had mine.

It sits now, propped against a recliner on our living room floor, waiting  for but a place and a nail to hail its purpose. And my girl lays out on the other side of the sectional from me, wrapped loosely in a small, hideous-yellow down comforter bought from the same shelves as the art, meaning as much to me as any human wished they could to someone else. Our cat is perched in the large living room window, parting the drawn curtains with his slender rump so as to see out from it, tail twitching with tension as he watches the birds zip by, so close, and yet so far from reach. And our TV waits for orders to show us this or bring us there. While I type out words to a world unseen.

Funny thing, the purpose we, all of us, daily find.

In response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: “Purpose