Years ago, at the Denver Art Museum a trompe l'oeil show featured paintings so fool-the-eye real I fought a natural response to write on paper (which wasn't paper), to sniff flowers (that weren't flowers), and to walk through doors (that weren't doors).  

Oddly, the loose collection of leaves blown onto the weathered wood of a moldy bridge reminds me of those paintings with their sharp edges and surreal colors. If I could paint, I would paint such simple lines, such brilliant colors, such sharp shadows, and space would open from canvas like Alice's rabbit hole.  I would be lost, and I would be happy.