Patrick Q
SAVING SHAVINGS
Seeing these colored pencil shavings pile up on my laptop as they missed the waste can brought a rush of chilhood memories. I remember lining these up along my gradeschool desktop. I hated to see the end of the schoolday coming because it meant leaving them behind - left to the mercy of the cleaning lady who would discard them. I knew that my backpack or pocket would crush their fragile beauty. They seemed alive, or at least organic, the drifting petals of an other-worldly flower or the floating tails of tiny deep sea creatures.
SAVING SHAVINGS
Seeing these colored pencil shavings pile up on my laptop as they missed the waste can brought a rush of chilhood memories. I remember lining these up along my gradeschool desktop. I hated to see the end of the schoolday coming because it meant leaving them behind - left to the mercy of the cleaning lady who would discard them. I knew that my backpack or pocket would crush their fragile beauty. They seemed alive, or at least organic, the drifting petals of an other-worldly flower or the floating tails of tiny deep sea creatures.