The other day I was walking in the rain with a friend when my eye fell on this twig. It was lying on the wet bricks in Pioneer Square looking a bit forlorn, like it had fallen violently from a tree or been thoughtlessly cast aside. I suppose that's one of the reasons that it spoke to me. That, and the fact that I found it's shape really, truly beautiful. "I love that twig!" I sang out as soon as I saw it. And I knew instantly that I would take it home and paint it a vibrant shade of blue. I had a VISION. It's beauty was speaking to me. Traveling with it on the Light Rail was tough, though. The train was packed with holiday shoppers, and it's sharp angles meant there wasn't a graceful way to tuck myself (and it) into a quiet corner. We were a conspicuous pair, the twig and I. And it felt, based on more than a few quizzical looks, like people were thinking: "Why is that silly woman carrying a silly twig on the Light Rail? Doesn't she know that she can get a twig anywhere in the city!" But that's not true, you see. There is only one twig exactly like this in the entire world.