As I stood back and admired the round, large carpet which lay on the living room floor, I noticed how neatly I had placed the piles which covered the outer circumference of the carpet. It looked as though it was a giant clock on the floor, but in place of the numerals, there were papers and too many piles to actually resemble a clock.
In some strange sense, I suppose it could have been construed as a clock, for the pages were filled with time.
These pages are my first draft of my memoir. I couldn’t help but just stand and look down at my creation for a moment with an overwhelming sense of pride.
Oh yes, I have a ways to go now, but alas, the story is out of my head. I have birthed it and now have only to help it grow and shape its future.