Sand's occupation forces are drawing nearer day by day, the rightful world our feet sink into all day long. Hobbling painfully on, my fate obscure, I have discovered that the hardest battle in the world Is the battle with that. Before the sands of the obvious harden into concrete, before the prison of the rightful devours the world entirely. The child is afraid the colors may go over the lines. Those butterflies, flowers, clouds, and streams are all imprisoned inside lines.
Fear overflows from the child's gentle eyes.
All day long, docile and neat, my child is carefully coloring inside the lines as the instructions say. Sribble over the lines. Paint outside the lines. Butterflies, streams, clouds, and flowers are all things that explode. They are all alive, dear.