Tilly hides in the rushes by Sanity Creek and watches. Like the fog, she expands and contracts as needed, and moves without sound around the low places, painting them with gauze. She has a bag that has real tricks in it. Her ears hear, her eyes see, and she can smell enlightenment and unrest from at least ten miles away. Her hands have twenty three hundred ways of holding things. She cleans countertops so she can store her words on them. She shortens things that need to be shortened. In the night, she sleeps, unless she just really doesn’t want to. Tilly has found pockets where there previously were none, in clothing, riverbanks, and in other odd places. Tilly is a poet.
Sanity Creek Sock Monkey
The Fancy World Collection