When I was at the waterfront I was at the waterfront. When I was on the badminton court I was on the badminton court. When I was in Hobby Nook I was in Hobby Nook.
Hobby Nook was entirely sensory: chair legs scraping on the wooden floor, fragrant candle wax melting on a hotplate, dust drifting in through wide-open doors and windows leaving an earthy taste on my tongue, woven wicker making a pattern against the backs of my legs, the colors and sheen of half-inch ceramic tiles lighting up my eyes.
When a cabin leader clanged the bell on A Field, I put away my trivet till the next day, with nary a thought about its being 'finished' or not.
Today in Hobby Nook—a few tiles here, a few there, some grout, and then off when the bell rang.
|detail, work in progress|