Simply

What else?

Well, I'm tired of thinking about books and decorating and even moving to Montgomery, for that matter.

When I clear all of that out, it seems that the vault is echoing and nearly empty. But in the back corner, in a shadow, there is a little box. Not anything important, you see, just something that has been sitting there for a while, unnoticed.

So, sitting crossed legged on the dusty floors, I unfold the paper lid, each flap snapping with a crisp untouched sound.

Inside is an idea: a life.

This is an old idea. One I created (or found, more likely) long ago and stuffed away. When I pull it out of the box, I find it odd and a little juvenile. The idea that I might live my life simply: with little impact.

I turn it over in my hands with wonder. I'm not sure why is showed up today. And I'm really not sure what to do with it. But there it is.