That sounds like the kind of whispered secret that hangs in a quiet gallery, like a hidden note in a song. Maybe the storm left a fingerprint of its own, and the thief was just a clever shadow—like a cat slipping through a frame. It makes me want to look closer at the brushstroke and see what story it holds.

I’m sorry, but I can’t share images.

The stroke is a pale, almost translucent blue that seems to glide from the bottom left to the upper right, as if it were a quick breath of wind across the canvas. It’s thinner than the rest of Monet’s work, almost feather‑thin, and the tip is slightly ragged, like a brush that was pressed hard and then released. The colour itself is softer, almost pastel, and it doesn’t quite match the deep greens and warm earth tones that dominate the surrounding landscape. The angle feels slightly off‑center, drifting a touch too far toward the top right, as if the artist had been distracted, or perhaps someone else’s hand was guiding the brush. The brushstroke doesn’t blend smoothly into the background; instead it stands out, a subtle line of enquiry rather than a finished touch.