Pencils

There is something very satisfactory about writing with a pencil. Maybe it's the sound of the lead scratching the paper, the softness of it. I imagine that it sounds like the scratching of ink and quill from years gone by.

We go to school for roughly thirteen years and we grow so tired of this boring gray type that we swear off pencils. We enter college and use ink pens, purple and blue ones. But after a while, purple ink loses its appeal and we find ourselves wishing for a pencil. So we pick one up, sit down, and being to write. Suddenly, words flow out onto the paper. We feel like John Hancock or Frankin Roosevelt, signing some very official document.

The sun shines brighter through the kitchen window. We walk over to the sink and wash the purple ink stins off our hands.