This November, I’ll be thankful for blank sheets of paper. A crisp, colorless surface represents unending potential. One thin piece could become a colorful painting, a dancing poem, or a lengthy chain of paper cranes. Paper is not valuable for what it is, that is, heavily processed sawdust, but rather for what it can become. The one who uses it decides its character rather than any intrinsic property. Many creatives, including myself, owe the beginnings of their journeys to a cheap yellow pencil and a single piece of paper.
What is your favorite part of spring?
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