Solo Artist

Pittman and Fish walked us way up into the woods and dropped us off in different spots where we couldn’t see or hear each other. They said they’d be patrolling the area, so “don’t think about any funny business.” At the end of the time, Pittman was going to blow an air horn, and we were all supposed to make our way back to camp.

Meanwhile, it was just as bad as I thought. It was pretty creepily quiet out there. Just me, the woods, a piece of paper, a pencil, and my own thoughts.

I stared at that empty page. I tried to think about what I wanted to put in that letter to myself. Then I started to write.

That’s as far as I got. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and even worse, I really didn’t feel like figuring it out.

So I stared at the sky and the trees for a while.

I watched an ant take forever to carry a piece of leaf about two feet.

After that, I looked at my letter some more. I put a comma after the “Dear Rafe” part.

Then I took another stare-at-the-sky break.

Somewhere in there, I finally figured something else out. I didn’t need both sides of that page just for a little letter. And there was no sense letting the other side go to waste.

So I flipped it over, put it down on the flattest rock I could find, and started to draw.