As I prepare to write I imagine words tumbling out, like supplies for a sculpture. I dig into my stash and muck around until inspiration hits and then it all seems to come together. One piece inspiring another. A small fleck of glitter reminding me to use light. The lack of glue encouraging thick, sticky tape that has been in a drawer for far too long. The tape dictates the height, the height dictates the balance. Then, I twirl it around on the table, stepping back, then moving back in, squinting at my work. Thinking, then not. Rustling around for the last element, the topper to the tree, the final statement. And there it is, still and complete. I stand and leave the room to refill my mug of coffee. Glad to have made something for the day.
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