Outside the flood is rising. Even the cats shy from the chill air that slips under the door and stoking the fire has once more become habit. The boy refuses to leave the safety of the net. His teeth grind in concentration as he emulates my page with his own. His doggedness works to his advantage and a small rise of feeling lifts from the luminous edge. I reach to help with the pull of it, but he pushes me away. He is, in his own way, as stubborn as I have ever been and I have no choice but to let him make his way, however hard. He has grown into this world with me. He has shown the talent that will someday make him rich, or perhaps destroy him.

Today I set the moving steps, task shy, bent towards the work with no true end. It is something to say that I have been frustrated in my attempts to bring the color to life. The drawing on the stone fades into the grey and nowhere is it apparent to others who chance to look this way. I have had the courage to set the magic for seeing, and though it may be held in contempt by those who would share perfection I am quite proud of what it has become. Be it to my eyes only, then so be it.

The quest continues...

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