93. Hopscotch
July 1, 2008
Megan walked through the part of her neighborhood where the bigger houses were, where the families lived and the parents paid mortgages and the children had tire swings. It was a glorious summer day, and her skin was slick with sunblock. She came to an area where the sidewalk and street were covered—covered—in chalk. In the center of the intersection was an elaborate mandala, scribbled in blue, pink, lime, and canary. On the sidewalk were pictures: an elephant in a dress, a truck with huge tires. Through the street ran an elaborate hopscotch game, breaking the traditional grid format as it zigged and zagged. Between hops would be directions (”cross the street and do what it says there”) and squiggles (”follow this line”).
Megan heard a creaking of metal. She looked in the direction of the sound: a little girl in a backyard, standing on a swing, holding the chain and looking over the fence. She was staring intensely at Megan and seemed to be trying to read Megan’s opinion.
Megan smiled. “Hello! Do you know who made all this awesome art? It’s so good.”
The girl snorted derisively and actually flipped her pigtails.
“I did,” she answered, as if to say: wasn’t it obvious from how I was watching you?
image: Leslie Duss on flickr
Several days ago, I ran into Jonathan Murphy, who writes about “hyper-connectivity” and creativity on the blog