Sundays had always been great for getting away from the rat race, queues, traffic and squalling, squabbling kids.
However, this tiny piece of heaven, designed, manufactured, owned entirely and piloted by its Creator, was exquisite, the envy of the lowlifes beneath him.
From his vantage point in the sky, he could see the world below, watch the looks of wonder and amazement at his passing, like some kind of God paying a visit to his followers.
He basked in his egotistical glow on this maiden voyage, preened himself at his excellence.
It had been miraculous of course, this original concept, and then the years of planning and engineering involved to get The Ark to fly.
Billions of dollars had been invested in the project, thousands of man hours, and when complete, no-one, except He, was allowed to board.
No two by two animals for him to clear up after thank you very much, just the plain straightforward beauty of a floating landscape, that when at rest, would blend neatly into natural surroundings. In fact, no-one would know of its existence unless in flight as all those who had been involved had ‘departed to another life’.
He chuckled, then let forth a roar of laughter, exalted by his deviousness when he’d realised that money could indeed buy you anything.
This strange and mysterious painting is by German artist Makis Warlamis.
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