Crayon Philosophy

Can crayons be the ultimate metaphor for life?

She drew and colored stretched out on the floor. No matter how many desks, lap or otherwise, or tables you bought she still preferred the floor ala Margo Jones.

She drew everything but she liked horses the best, fanciful, and real. However, sometimes her imagination would run as free as a wild mustang across the prairie. They were extraordinary creatures, hybrids with a spark of mischievousness reminiscent of the artist’s. Art was in her blood and if she could, would have made it her middle name. It was during such a session that I presented her with a present, a sixty-four count box of brand new crayons.

She stopped, crinkled her nose the way, I’m sure, all great artist do when the uninspired interrupt their creativity. She sat up, took the box with a look of distain, thank me kindly, set them aside, and return to her work using the same worn crayons. I stood there a moment a bit confused, not understanding the reaction. “You know, you can use them now,” thinking she wanted to save them. Once again, she stopped her working, sighed heavily. “Thank you so much for the new crayons, really,” she pauses clearly thinking of the right choice of words to make this member of the uninitiated understand, “But I prefer crayons with experience.” She smiles so sweetly at me, and returns to her work.