I lay down my fancy materials and oversized paper pads... close the thick books about other peoples accomplishments, and open my eyes. I see my hand...my fingers draw like a brush on the steamed mirror in the bathroom, I have created and the creation will disappear in a minute or two. it feels great. I will never be closer to my work. clouds drift by the upstairs window. the cats defend their territory from unwanted intruders. I draw my son on the back of an envelope with a red ballpointpen. Life is a funny little thing.