(Because of a variety of circumstances, Lisa and I are taking a Figs break. But! For those who just started reading the blog, I'm going to reach deep into the wayback machine and toss up some old Figs for your enjoyment.)
The problem, Norbert now realized, wasn’t finding the key. He’d always had it, tucked away in his gran’s potting shed, back behind the pile of peat moss. The key had long been his and he knew it.
No, Norbert thought, it isn’t about the key. It’s about maintaining one’s enthusiasm for trying your key in all of these darn doors in the hopes that one day your key will work.
Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.