Angle

I once loved to walk around the house peering into a mirror aimed at the ceiling, where I imagined myself walking.

When the sun streamed into the kitchen, and reflected off the water in the sink, my mother called the reflection on the walls and ceiling, fairies dancing. Turning doing dishes into something slightly magical. Sometimes, anyway.

Sometimes the difference between work and play, between irritation and amusement, is a simple act of turning something around and looking at it from a different angle.