I sat on the bench next to Angelo. “Look at the trees,” he said. “They’re so alive, you can almost see the leaves growing.”

“You’re right,” I said.

“And the hills! See how they rise up and down? The land is breathing.” Angelo leaned back. “But the best part is the sun! Its shine fills the whole sky.”

“It fills you, too,” I said.

Angelo glanced down at his chest, which glowed with the same golden yellow of Van Gogh’s sun. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes. “You tricked me into looking at this beautiful painting.”

“I thought you needed to see it,” I said. “Sorry about the trick.”

Angelo turned back to Olive Trees and his chest burned brighter. He said, “No matter.”