A small lead stick traded in for precision of mechanics wonder

She traces the image in her mind onto her clear, white paper

Her left hand never quivers as she concentrates on the image

Occasionally rubbing a white eraser across the plain.

---

Brushing away the ashes of mistakes

She continues to draw her mind while unnoticeably –to her- making faces

Then takes out a peculiar, white pencil and firmly presses it onto the paper

And the image begins to blur and fill in.

---

The image has only begun; it is still a baby

And it is still difficult to make out what it could be

She pauses as she rasps her tool against her glossy oak desk

Waffling on what should be added; what should be expunged?

---

Her brown eyes brighten and she rapidly scribbles onto the paper

Erasing a few lines as her tool slips from the excitement

Three distant gongs are heard through the thick wood door

And she is finished.

---

She props up the masterpiece

Examining every single line with her hawk eyes

Pushing her glasses up from the brim of her nose

Smiling with dimples of satisfaction.