Twelve and a half Minutes

He adjusted his tweed cap and yanked the worn sleeves of his sweater to just above his elbows.  His unruly white beard and eyebrows matched his vibrant blue eyes, with which he surveyed the shoreline.  His rickety folding chair sat patiently amidst tufts of windswept grass, while he dug the slim legs of his easel into the soft sand.  He heaved his sturdy build central to his paints, brushes and canvas and settled his gaze on a rusty, blue sailboat, hoisted up on a rugged frame.  After years of neglect, she seemed to understand that he saw glimpses of her former radiance, and stood portrait-ready, basking in his admiration.

I approached him breathless, having only a borrowed moment for this side adventure,  "Hello, I'm Grace, I saw you leaving the bridge, descending this path to the shore, with all your gear.  I had a rough morning with my little ones and just seeing you inspires me!  How often do you paint?"

His merry eyes met mine, "I am Larry, next week I'll turn seventy and this is the first time I've ever done this.  I've wanted to paint all my life, today is the day!"

We laughed and cheered his courage (not with glasses, though I believe the moment was champagne-worthy!).  I thanked him for encouraging my day and generously sharing his sunny outlook with me.  He thanked me for noticing him.  How long does a friendship take to form? I think 12 1/2 minutes will do!  Isn't life better together?