Hues

The little boy appeared lost. He walked from window to window in thought. Once in a while he would return to the piece of paper on the floor and touch it with a dab of brown or a speck of green. The strokes of his brush appeared deliberate, yet contained. There was a beauty in the boy that could only be seen by those intent on catching a glimpse of it - and a glimpse was all it was. He fidgeted, he fumbled, he looked at his creations, wiped them clean with a fresh dab of white paint. He did that until the the light in the room grew brighter. Suddenly, and without warning he left. A short while later, another boy entered. He was purposeful, restless and had eyes that sparkled and shone in brilliance. He paced the room and tried to paint a few nondescript shapes and spaces on the paper that lay on the floor. He would look at each creation with reluctant indifference while the colors faded almost as quickly as he could draw. After a while, he put the paints and brushes aside, went to the corner of the room and waited patiently, dreaming of a gushing stream that would float him away and cover the paper in green.

I almost forgot that between the visit of the two boys, a little girl, colorfully dressed had walked into the room. With purposeful air she sauntered to the paper on the floor. She picked up the colors scattered about the room and started dabbing the paper with them. It was as if each color knew its presence on the canvass. The colors jostled for space, yet did not hide each other. They smiled, they bloomed, they showered happiness in a way that would make the hardest rain appear a drizzle. Just as the colors were at their blossomy best, her mother called "Spring, please come out. It is Summer's turn to paint".