She was twenty and he was twenty-eight.
She climbed up a big tree, leaned against the trunk, and listened to music to sleep.
He set up his easel not far away and was looking for scenery to paint.
He quickly spotted her and her restless, dangling calves. With a little more playfulness in his eyes, he picked up the pen and drew down the first line.
An hour later, he started to put away the brushes and paints, but she was still sleepwalking.
He moved the easel under the tree and left it with her along with the unfinished painting.