crayons and new beginnings

There is something about a new box of crayons. I always respond the same way to them--and I can't help but buy them every August when school supplies go on sale. I have boxes of them around the house and in my office. When my grand-daughter dumped these out, I had to snap a photo. What makes me so responsive to them? I am not sure. I'm not an artist, but I love to color pictures with my grand-children. There's something soothing about the activity. But it's the crayons themselves that draw me: the look of them, the smell of them, even the feel of them--rough paper and smooth ends. I've finally decided that it has to do with possibilities, with beginnings.

A new box of crayons signals the start of something: school, a project, a picture.
* Every color I need to complete any idea for a picture I have is there. Shades of colors and neutrals. More than a rainbow. They are all there. I can do anything I want, create anything I want. A whole new world where trees are purple and the sky is green? I can do it!
* The points of the crayon are still sharp, still able to draw narrow lines or in small spaces. Later, when they are no longer new, the blunted points constrain possibilities.
* The crayons are whole now, not broken. I didn't notice until recently that the length of the crayon is just perfect for doing intense work. When a crayon is broken and short, it's not as easy to work with, doesn't allow the detail I might want.

Yes, a new box of crayons symbolizes a start and all the possibilities inherent in that starting. Even now, as I begin a new writing project that is both exciting and strangling me, I sense the possibilities in the project. And, like the box of crayons, I am drawn in to what could be.