A railroad track, on fire. After being blown to pieces and a part of it washed away by a river.
A bunch of small fires that become one big fire with so much smoke you can't see anything at all.
An electricity storm. The brown things are the transformer stations and the yellow is all of the electricity flying through the air between the transformers.
A bomb that lands in the ground.
A "thing" of exploding poison gas.
The house catching fire because of a firestorm in the sky.
And dynamite. Lots and lots of dynamite. (He has been making these and will stealthily sneak into the room, put one on my desk, and then make a made dash for the door as he giggles uncontrollably. It's hilarious).
This morning he told me he has a few more disasters he needs to illustrate before he starts working on the pop-up parts of the book. "Like what, son?"
"Oh, you know. Tornadoes, earthquakes, hurricanes, and a plane falling out of the sky. Stuff like that. But don't worry mom, everyone in the plane will have a parachute so they are OK."
Oh. Everyone has a parachute? That's great, son.
Dear Gentle Readers:
I do not know from whence springs this recent fixation with disasters of all kinds. I am working hard to subvert the Jungian psychologist in me so as to not over-analyze it all. I think it might have to do with all of the museums we went to over the last week.
Much love, M.