The Kingfish Way. Rob Wood

filter for you.”

      “Oh, I checked it earlier. My son must have changed it one day while I was gone.” She shrugged. “By the way, you know those paintings you were admiring when you arrived earlier? My son is the artist.”

      “You’re kidding me! How long has he been painting?”

      “Well, he started right after he returned from his trip, about five years ago. He had never painted before in his life. Now he’s sold over two hundred paintings, and he just signed a contract with a major studio in Los Angeles! He has always wanted to be an artist, but his father and I never knew. We always felt he should follow in his father’s shoes with a good, reliable job at the factory.”

      Phil stepped back onto the porch, looking at the paintings through the windows and nodding with a new appreciation. He shook Mrs. Gumby’s hand, thanking her again for her hospitality, and headed home. Later that night, lying in his bed, he replayed the evening in his mind. “In the river of life without a paddle? Asleep? Know Yourself, Free Yourself, Be Yourself? What does all of this mean?” His thoughts swirled through his head like murmuring spirits as he drifted off to sleep.