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The Watercolor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page 3

 
Then I saw it — a bright splash of bold color amid the muted greens, browns and yellows.

“That one, please,” I said, pointing to it.

He reached down, plucked it from among the others, and handed it to me.

A few months later, before my 8th birthday, he died.

Even now, when I look at that colorful watercolor, I remember that he saw me, a child, as someone old enough to value and take care of one of his paintings.

 

 

the watercolor I chose

 

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