Something exposed by erosion catches her eye.
She recognizes its value
and begins to carefully unearth it,
digging through layers of history,
each with a story to tell...
broken tools used long ago,
ancient writings with meanings to be decoded.
Dust and debris are cleared away to reveal the treasure.
Her desk is finally clean.
I was a pack rat as a kid. It drove my mother insane. Twice a year she'd make me go through my room and weed through all my stuff, ditching at least half of it. I can't describe how much I hated that. Now I'm the mom and periodically, I have an urge to purge. The first time my mom witnessed me independently develop the itch to get rid of accumulated stuff she let out a cheer. She couldn't believe the kid who resisted so violently was now purging her belongings on her own. I've got the urge again...I just need time to do it...but I've started with my desk. Yes, Mom, I am glad you made me go through the process when I was a kid.