What is it about the little sparkly things that charm me? They have very little value in and of themselves, piled in a glass bowl in the sunlight, and stored in tiny plastic bags in my well-organized plastic tackle box, my treasure chest of literary proportion.
These trinkets and gems are incomprehensibly precious to me alone. They comprise the arts and crafts class that’s always in session inside me. They populate my creative imagination in myriad media and kaleidoscopic combinations, never failing to engender joy.
It’s just a transparent bowl of glass, plastic, metal and materials of unknown origin that never fails to enthrall me with possibility. Mixed in the fray are gemstone beads and cabochons, mined, cut and drilled into tiny fragments of delight. They are really nothing special, but they are all mine, these trinkets and gems of little value except to me.
My trinkets and gems of infinite possibility are my pleasure and my shining, endless hope.