Steve Thoms Poppies painting

Steve Thoms Poppies paintingSteve Thoms Poppies field paintingSteve Thoms Field of Red and Gold painting
Mishal lay sleeping, veiled in a mosquito--net. The magic butterflies were resting on her exposed toes, and a mosquito had evidently found its way inside as well, because there was a line of little bites along the raised edge of her collar--bone. He wanted to lift the net, crawl inside and kiss the bites until they faded away. How inflamed they looked! How, when she awoke, they would itch! But he held himself back, preferring to enjoy the innocence of her sleeping form. She had soft, red-brown hair, white white skin, and her eyes, behind the closed lids, were silky grey. Her father was a director of the state bank, so it had been an irresistible match, an arranged restored the fortunes of the Mirza's ancient, decaying family and then ripened, over time and in spite of their failure to have children, into a union of real love. Full of emotion, Mirza Saeed watched Mishal sleep and chased the last shreds of his nightmare from his mind. "How can the world be done for," he reasoned contentedly to himself, "if it can offer up such instances of perfection as this lovely dawn?"