How does a paintbrush breathe? How is it able to move and dance? A paintbrush was able to manipulate the wind, creating storms and storms of blues. However, those blues weren't different, they didn't contrast, instead they worked together to form the welcoming arms of the sky. The same paintbrush gave birth to the moon and stars. The stars were a piece of the moon, scattered out with a mission to brighten up the darkness below them, to not fight against the blue backdrop but to illuminate the sky with vibrant yellows in order for everybody to see the small, gloomy world below them. The titular paintbrush bristled and out came the Cypress, ever so large and foreboding. Despite its dark curves and elongated figure, it blended in with the sky so it almost seemed like there was no end to that scene of color, as if it were made to flow on forever and forever. I think of this paintbrush, an ordinary paintbrush, and I wonder if my pencil can do the same. Is it possible for my pencil to create endless blues that do not contrast and fight yet blend together into one, embracing their similarities? Will my stars be like the paintbrush's? Each vibrant with color yet dependent on one another. When I write about my trees, will they be able to blend in with the sky or will they stick out uncomfortably, like empty space? My pencil's moon, will the colors flow forever or will there be an abrupt ending where perhaps people will not want to know more? The paintbrush did its job creating the sky but how well will my pencil translate when it tries to create mine?
