Flaming June by Frederic Lord Leighton

The other day, I remembered walking the dark, never ending labyrinths of the Museo Del Prado last summer.

The somber portraits of Europe’s high society, from centuries past, dotted its walls. Their faces were often captured in an uncomfortable moment; rarely smiling and with tense jaws, they stared ominously through their cracked oil-paint eyes.

Then we saw her

She was a ray of sunshine in the museum’s stagnant, weighted hallways.

The light reflecting on the water behind her delicious slumber took me back to the summers of my childhood, swimming in the warm blue waters of Camiguin during golden afternoons.

This scan does not do her justice, but it’s the closest thing I have to remembering how I felt when I saw her on that one Spanish summer day.

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