I love boxes. I always have. Because nothing says potential like an unfilled space, waiting in a silent plea for me to fill it.
From antique steamer trunks and vintage hat boxes, to a tiny opal inlaid bit of silver barely large enough to hold a secret. Boxes carry latent possibility – a character trait I get along with well.
All the experts say you shouldn’t do it, but each night I find myself tucked into bed with my cell phone in hand.
While my husband and our pets fall into a deep slumber, I stay up just a little longer, swiping and clicking, hoping to unwind just a bit more. They say I shouldn’t do it, but I ignore them.