There's something singularly intriguing about dogging around PEI's countryside with a trio of artists. We stop often. I'm the fourth. The writer in a world of painters, fascinated by their gasps and exclamations.
Nothing is as it appears.
They've spotted something. There's a murmur or two, pictures taken, discussion of what colors would be used if any color could be replaced. And they smile at me, determined to help me see what they see, confident that I can. As I'm somewhat slow with my vision, I scribble when they pull out easels and paints, brushes and sketchbooks to chronicle their trip. Fascinating, I think and wait to see by their projects what I can't see with my own eyes.