What do you see when you look inside this box?
Do you see a bag full of string? White-ish yarn waiting to go on a shelf? A bunch of that wooly stuff old women turn into things?
Or...
Do you see what I see?
Possibilities... Potential... A blank canvas of maybes. That is what I see. Color waiting to happen. Shape waiting to take form. That is what I see when I look in that box.
It is the same here. Where someone else might see blue yarn, or the sky and the sea... I see a ferret. I wonderful muse who kicks my behind and tells me to write more.
Possibilities ... they are grand and wondrous things.
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