It seems that little things gather together and just hang out in equal space that I temporarily call my own. I may think I'am the creator of my life but maybe the little things rule my world. And I'm just enslaved to collect them. To provide a thing called 'home' where they thrive and enjoy each others company. They remain solid in my presence but might get into all sorts of trouble once I've left. It becomes visible when words are attached and a story unfolds. How long is a day for them? It turns out their echo lingers on into all sorts of constructions once they are spoken. But very often we dismiss them in our busy life. If I had a maid who would clean everything then I doubt he/she would even notice them...These little ones....
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