⏱ ~3 min reading
On Wednesday afternoon, Marinka sat at a small table by the window. In front of her was a sheet of paper, a jar of water, and a set of watercolor paints. The sun fell on the table in stripes through the blinds.
Marinka was drawing a picture for her dad. Tomorrow was his birthday. Dad loved the sea — even though they lived far from the sea — so Marinka decided to draw the sea.
First, the sky. Blue, with pink clouds. Then a blue strip of water. Then a yellow beach. And then a small white boat with a red sail. On the boat, there was a small dot, because it was Dad.
The picture came out. Marinka looked at it for a long time.
"Mom! It's done!"
Mom came in with a towel in her hands - she had just washed the dishes.
"Oh, how beautiful. Dad will be delighted.".
"I'll show him now. He's in the living room.".
Mom leaned over. Carefully touched the very edge with her little finger — where it was yellow.
— Marinka. She's still wet.
— No. I've been drawing for a long time.
"Look. See how shiny the finger is?"
Marinka looked. There was indeed a tiny yellow spot glowing on her mother's little finger.
— Oh.
"If you carry it now, the paint will smear. Or it will get on something. Or it will get on your palm.".
— And when will it dry?
— Like tomorrow morning.
"Tomorrow?! So long!"
Marinka almost sat back in her chair—indignant, offended, almost crying. She had been drawing all these hours, and now she had to wait the whole evening.
Mom sat down next to her. She put her hand on her shoulder.
— Do you know what happens when you hurry?
— What?
— I once wrote a letter to my grandmother. I wanted to fold the envelope right away. The ink didn't dry, and the whole letter became one blue stain. My grandmother received the paper without any words.
Marinka laughed, despite the insult.
- Did you write again?
— I wrote. I waited longer. But since that day I know: beauty takes time.
"What if Dad gets up earlier than me tomorrow? And I won't be there when he sees me?"
"And you can put the painting on the table in the morning. By yourself. Don't show it first - let him find a surprise.".
Marinka smiled.
By evening she came up three more times. She looked to see if it was wet or not. Mom gently reminded her: don't touch it. Marinka endured. She sat next to her, drawing ornaments on another sheet of paper - to keep her hands busy.
In the morning — even before dad woke up — Marinka quietly left the room. The painting was dry. The yellow beach — without smearing. The blue water — saturated. The red sail — like a holiday.
She placed the sheet of paper on the table next to Dad's cup.
When Dad entered the kitchen, uncombed, in his house pants, Marinka was watching from behind the door. Dad saw it. He picked up the painting with both hands. He didn't touch the paint — he took it by the edges. He smiled.
— This is the best sea I have ever seen in my life.
Marinka ran out the door. She hugged her dad around the knees. The painting was dry. Dinner was still a long way off. And the morning was warm.
💡 Haste spoils the best.