It was cool outside, and the moon shined brightly off the surface of the pond. Grandfather and August sat on the grass enjoying the moment between dinner and sleep. “What is creativity?” August asked as he stared solemnly at the ripples distorting the moons reflection. Grandfather took a moment. He seemed to have collected his thoughts now. “There are a thousand ways to define creativity” he positioned himself to face me and took in a deep breath.
“Creativity is a state of mind, where August can understand and remember his past, and apply that to his present. Without time there would be no past no present no future. Let the time play its part. Creativity is like fine wine, the olderp, the better.
Creativity is an experience where all the senses in August act together. You will see sounds, hear colours anpd everything will be charged with electricity.
You will start feeling more, and then you will start to need more room. Creativity will create its own world and will make you bring the bits of reality that you pick. Choose well.
Creativity starts to shape you. Your anger, hate, and complaining starts to dissapear. You won’t be able to get angry or sad because everything intrigues you. Creativity is shaping you.
The only currency creativity has, is respect. Always give respect to others and when they have done the same, they will be friends.
Creativity does not wait. A new brush would be nice, but right now all you have are the moon and the stars. Be creative.”
“I think you can figure out the rest.” Grandpa told August. Grandpa gets up and leaves muttering something about memory loss and five out of a thousand.