"Yup, that feels good, doesn't it?" I said. He studied my face, then looked at the sketch in my hand.
"Hey, you're good!"
"Thank you! You're so kind."
It was the older brother that had come with his little sister. I'd shown their parents the Kawasemi bird who'd come to perch right above the two mallards in the creek. I hadn't started drawing them yet so had only a blank sheet of paper to show the children at the time, but the boy had come back an hour later. By then, the paper looked like this:
I realize now I was engrossed in my drawing, and the little boy, trying not to interrupt me, simply played nearby, kicking at the leaves from time to time, trying to look at what I was doing without being too obvious about it. My unexpected act of kicking at the leaves and playing with him had enabled him to openly look at the picture and talk about it.
Embarrassed with my response, he turned his face towards the creek and began to mutter about coming more often to the park, but how it was getting colder now, so...and with a "Hope you do well with your picture anyway!" he ran off.
Oh-oh; it looked like rain. My brush pens are watercolor, and the picture would be ruined if it got spattered with raindrops. The picture wasn't completely finished, but I decided it would be better safe than sorry. Besides, don't you think this picture is way better than my first drawing back at the park, when Peter asked me what I was trying to draw, 10 days ago? When I was putting away my things, I told the mallards, who came back, if they wanted to see the picture, they had only a few moments, because I had to put away my things and go home--somebody must've told Peter, because he came flying to see too.
I noticed at the very end some other large birds came flying to some trees behind Step Creek. They were crows. Remember how one stopped on a branch over my head and peered down pityingly at my work before? I think now they would entrust me to sketch their black iridescent forms.
And remember that person who couldn't cry out loud? Well, on p.359, she mispronounced "How are you?" sincerely inquiring about the "toilet seat cover" instead, putting the prison in a fit of laughter. Prison had been dark, tense, depressive, gloomy...until the Lord sent one of His servants entrusted with his oil of laughter.
