The sky with no paint
Milohadpaintedayellowhouse,agreentree,andacatwithsplendidpurpleboots.Thenhereachedforthebluepaint.Thepotwasempty.Helookedoutofthewindow.Theskyhadplentyofblue.Whohadpaintedallthat?
HecarriedhispicturetoGrandmainthegarden.‘Couldweborrowalittlesky?’heasked.Grandmasetdownherwateringcan.‘Let'slookatitfirst.’Theysettledintheshade,wherethecatimmediatelysatonMilo'spainting.
‘Sunlighthasmanycolorsmixedtogether,’Grandmasaid.‘Whenitmeetsthetinymoleculesintheair,someofthatlightspreadsindifferentdirections.Bluespreadsaroundmorethanred.Thatisthebluereachingoureyes.’Milostaredattheemptypaintpot.‘Sotheskydoesn'tneedabrush?’‘Notevenaverylongone.’
Miloturnedhispaperoveranddrewanewpicturewithhiscrayons.Thistimeheaddedlittlebluearrowscomingthroughtheair.Thearrowswerehiswayofshowingthelight,notthingshecouldactuallysee.Hemadeonepointtowardthecat'spurpleboots.
Atsupper,Dadadmiredthedrawing.‘Apaintedsky?’heasked.‘Alight-filledsky,’saidMilo.Heputtheemptypotontheshelf.Tomorrowtheycouldbuymorepaint.Theskyalreadyhadwhatitneeded.
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Milo had painted a yellow house, a green tree, and a cat with splendid purple boots. Then he reached for the blue paint. The pot was empty. He looked out of the window. The sky had plenty of blue. Who had painted all that?
He carried his picture to Grandma in the garden. ‘Could we borrow a little sky?’ he asked. Grandma set down her watering can. ‘Let's look at it first.’ They settled in the shade, where the cat immediately sat on Milo's painting.
‘Sunlight has many colors mixed together,’ Grandma said. ‘When it meets the tiny molecules in the air, some of that light spreads in different directions. Blue spreads around more than red. That is the blue reaching our eyes.’ Milo stared at the empty paint pot. ‘So the sky doesn't need a brush?’ ‘Not even a very long one.’
Milo turned his paper over and drew a new picture with his crayons. This time he added little blue arrows coming through the air. The arrows were his way of showing the light, not things he could actually see. He made one point toward the cat's purple boots.
At supper, Dad admired the drawing. ‘A painted sky?’ he asked. ‘A light-filled sky,’ said Milo. He put the empty pot on the shelf. Tomorrow they could buy more paint. The sky already had what it needed.
What we learned
Air scatters blue sunlight toward our eyes. A clear blue sky is made by light and air, not blue paint.
