Actually, there is. And it’s mine.
Jonah’s taken to doing series work. Portrait series. Church series. Series drawings of our parish priest—one after another after another—that bear striking resemblance to the clown I imagined lived in a cupboard in my grandmother’s basement when I was a child.
But he breaks from his series work long enough to draw a long orange box inside of a larger orange box. And the smaller long box appears to have a door knob. Shortly after whispering to me in church, “Mom! Instead of Harold and the Purple Crayon, I am Jonah and the Orange Crayon! Can I keep this crayon in my pocket?”, he hands me the picture above and says, “Mom, I made you a grave.”
And then he is finished with graves. One being enough.