My Aquarium

I admit, I was bored. That, and I ran out of stuff to burn. I saw a white board and some markers and started coloring. I like the colors. I like how smoothly the white board markers color (when they work properly). I was thinking of the quiet serenity of the water.

The tall sea grass sways back and forth with the waves. They dance a slow graceful dance of long deliberate gestures.

The bubbles sound soothing as they shimmer and shudder quickly to the surface. I think it looks funny; they look like little swimmers out of air hurrying to the top.

Two rocks, craggy and morose, sit glaring at me, then each other, then back at me. Perhaps they wish they could float; much like a turtle might look up at the clouds and hope someday to fly.

I see a chest. Perhaps it has treasure. I can't tell, the lid is closed tight. What secrets might it be hiding? Perhaps the pirate guarding it may tell us? No? Well, how very rude. If he won't tell then why should I?

Over here I see a little snail. He is rock climbing. He needs no rope for he is daring and bold. He fears not death, in fact he laughs it to scorn! Ha, ha ha ha! Of course it helps to be underwater where falling is a huge rush; from zero to five miles an hour in only ... about 2 minutes. How brave the little snail.

I see golden red fish as they swim by in graceful formation. The lead fish gossips to her friends of the goings on of the sea. There is much to gossip about I imagine. After all, I hear there are many fish in the sea.

The sleek green fish pretends to hide much like one feigns embarrassment of attention at a party while being the obviously best dressed. "Such a sleek and veloce fish am I" muses the green fish, "...Though, so much attention is quite a nuisance..."

To my right I see two blue fish. "Hello my darling" flirts the fish with the suave look in a smooth Mediterranean accent. "My your scales do catch the light ever so elegantly tonight." - "I wish he'd just go away" thinks the other to herself while searching for a shadow to hide in. "Just ignore him, just ignore him..."

Another blue fish struts around with long delicate fins. Much like gossamer veils they wave delicately within the water such that the fish does not swim as much as magically float forward, the long tails drifting behind like wisps of light cloud.

I see a starfish catching some sun. At least, I hope that is what she is doing. This is, after all, the famous high jumper Star of the Seven Seas; the sea's highest flying starfish! I hope she is only resting and not in this position as a result of a failed parachute...

Maybe the young scallop will know what happened. I would ask but I have heard scallops do tend to get snappy at times. Perhaps it is best to simply move on.

Wanna be an artist...

Somewhere deep down inside every person there is some sort of creativity, some sort of creator just waiting to jump at the chance to build, organize, sculpt, paint, construct, design... In short CREATE!

I have always loved to draw. I love the feel of the pencil as I scrawl it across the paper. I may not have been able to create something artistic but I loved the feel of the scribble anyway:

I pull the pencil across the paper for a heavy thick line, then let my wrist loose and twist my elbow in toward my body and pull a quick broad curve out and downward!

I then reset the pencil toward the center of the paper. Not the center it's self. That would be too boring. I will set the tip down in the bottom left corner of an imaginary box that will be positioned at the center and cover about a quarter of the paper’s surface.

Then quickly I begin a clockwise spiral around the box. "Mind you don't stay in the box!" I remind myself. That would be boring too. The curve goes round and round. Some of it is thicker, some of it thinner.

The shear pressure on the pencil is like striking a match sending tiny sparks of graphite in all directions as I bring the pencil round and round.

Circle and spiral dance about on the page with glee as a light tinkling and lively flute accent their moves. Then enters the sharp jagged antagonist! I hear trombones and base drums announce its presence as I bring the pencil down hard and tear a zigzag menacingly across the dance floor.

"Oh no!" cries the circle in a dainty voice.

"I'll save you from this brute!” announces the spiral with a manly boast, and around and around the spiral flies. He spins to the southeast drumming up a whirl wind. Across the south he soars zeroing in on the zigzag who stands poised yet somewhat confused at the display.

With a whistle the zigzag calls in a squad of his own.

“Ah ha!” blurts the triangle flying in from the northeast with quick speed lines jetting out behind in a show of great velocity!

“Arrr!” scowls the square bringing up the left flank!

“Eek!” the circle gasps at the sudden surprise.

“Fear not!” The spiral continues his circle inward (as a spiral is wont to do) bringing with him the whirl wind and his good friend the squiggle!

“No, not the Squiggle!” morns the square, for it is many a squiggle that has frustrated the square’s otherwise straight lines before. “I cannot bear the squiggle! He is always causing my corners to bow!”

“Fear not” the triangle suggests. With several of my sons we can un-squiggle this squiggle into a zigzag in seconds!”

The circle reels around caught up in the fray as the squiggle confounds the square and the triangles poke at the squiggle! The whirl wind and the spiral gang up on the zigzag and pester relentlessly. The fight ensues traveling from one corner to the next, here and there, and just a little bit of everywhere.

Finally the zigzag has had enough and with a roar becomes a loud scribble throwing bold lines full of energy. Then with a slow wave the slightly softer zigzag slithers away. The square bounces off to quieter retreats to treat his wounded right and left angles. The triangle, not so tri any more, limps off clumsily like a lopsided hexagon on the roll. The whirl wind, out of breath breezes back toward home. The Squiggle, feeling bent out of shape (if you could imagine a squiggle out of shape), trips quietly away.

The spiral looks about for the circle… but there is nothing left to be seen for it is dark out now. The bright day of the paper has turned to the graphite darkness of night.

The art teacher with a scowl looks on disapprovingly; “That looks nothing like the model…”

Provo Fall