Leaning in, the tree asked again:
“You think you have *what*?”
The spring leaf defiant: “Control.”
“Ah, I see,” said old oak, remembering when she was young.
“And when you let go, *you* will see, too.”
This is evidence of more than a handful of attempts at control. When I finally let go of what I thought it *should* be, the base for a new tabletop stabile showed me what she wanted to be … although it took me a couple of hours to get there.
Progressive frustration gave way to flow just past the breaking point. Sometimes I press so hard at the focused solution, I totally miss the opportunity of stepping back and allowing.