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Crayons and my hand and I am five again. That was when the dedication to color was the highest. I could name all of the colours in the sunset and often found myself searching for the perfect match in my box. How many letters did I write Crayola asking for that specific shade of pink in a Florida sunset? I love even the smell of them. And I hold them to my nose as if they were roses. Crayons in my hand and I wonder at why I ever stopped coloring. Why I ever stopped being five in the first place. . How Rude! - Wednesday, Sept. 22, 2004 - 12:16 PM One small step but no giant leap. - Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2003 - 11:17 AM Where's George? - Thursday, Sept. 25, 2003 - 12:48 PM |
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a Nifty design 
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