In receive and reading of his art, she found permission and encouragement to make her own—creations from sentiments long saved and stored in guard, safe, for when mind and spirit were prepared to make something of her treasures.
She went within, to all saved and stored and present still—wanting told and made into beautiful things.
In sit and rest at table’s place, she looked to the words upon her wall, upon wall’s changed and romance-hue, to stories on shelf where one day her own would be.
Open page, pen in hand, with openness and trust: she wrote a single sentence in tell of an open truth. By this line, her story-life began.