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A Close Shave
I sharpened my pencils preparing to sketch something that appears somewhat ordinary but really, if given half a chance, is quite interesting in its own unique way. PARAGRAPH BREAK And there they were: pencil shavings sitting on the white desk, scattered with their delicate edges of color hinting at the beautiful color they each held. With imagination and open eyes, they could be delicate tulle ballerina skirts, shells or coral collected from the shores of a tropical beach, handle-less umbrellas or parasols from a different era. Their pale soft wooden forms undulating in a delicate spiral, a thin layer removed like an onion skin. Their soft pink flesh just edged with a hint of their former self. The slivers of shaved color falling from their wounds, bleeding just a little of their life onto the desk. This is a Close Shave.