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The Fair Lady

I can almost hear the harp playing through the painting - the strokes of brush on canvas and the occasional tut of the Fair Lady. If it wasn’t for the plumbing circulating the attic and the house settling with ominous creaks, I would swear I could hear the wind blow and the ruffle of the Fair Lady’s feathered hat. I imagine she would turn to the window, look out at the kids below and shout at them to quit making such noise. The children below would drop their football and gaze up at the harshness of the Fair Lady’s shadow and wonder if their mother had ascended to the attic to play dress up. Creaking once more, the house se