Flash fiction: 100 words
The artist lay on her back gazing at the sky. A few clouds grew overhead like leavened dough. The bright sun warmed her face. She smiled at the peace she felt. She could hear the trees rustling in the light breeze.
Her mind wandered and wondered about her next painting. What inspiration would the sky and the sounds of nature breathe into her being, her brush, and onto her canvas?
Suddenly, a tree cracked in the woods nearby.
Rotting stumps giving fodder for moss, lichens, and fungi.
A loaf of steaming hot bread.