The little boy stood up

and dusted the chalk from his knees and wrists

and he admired the drawing on the pavement.

Chalk dust had smeared and danced in the wind

while he looked at his tree and the blue sky behind it.

When another boy, a bigger one rode by

and let his bicycle tire cut through the center.

The boy laughed at the little one

and the little one cried.

The boy drew with careful concentration

and Crayola crayon gripped tightly in his small hand

while he colored in a coloring book to make the unnatural possible.

Another girl laughed and tore his page out

saying that pigs weren’t blue and grass isn’t orange.

Everyone snickered and pointed

and the little boy snatched it back and tossed it into his backpack,

ashamed.

The teenage boy painted carefully across his canvas

and let the blue paint drip like pieces of the sky

as he created the ocean waves and swells

and his classmates laughed at him because he wanted to paint

and not play games and the boy had stopped caring

had stopped hearing the laughter.

The man hung his canvas on the wall

of a fine and elegant gallery

and people came and stared in awe at his creations

and no one laughed or pointed

and he didn’t feel ashamed.

He only heard praise

and now he was laughing.