The colors, chalky and indistinct, zig-zagged around the gray of the pavement, forming pictures only the four year old artist could understand. He frowned, looking as serious as an old professor, bending over the brightly colored box to choose his next color. His mother smiled indulgently, trying to remember his current favorite things so that she could figure out the picture. The passing strangers smiled at his tousled hair as he bent down, skeching out his imagination on the sidewalk. He ignored them, concentrating on holding the chalk in his clumsy hand, making lines that were straight only to him. He stood up, finished, and surveyed his work for a minute more, before running of to his friends, forgetting himself what the picture meant. Sidewalk chalk, forgotten on the street, caused grins among the people until it was washed away by rain. Better than the fanciest portrait, for it drew smiles.