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I work in a small room of my house, which I've claimed to be my office. I live in a small, mostly quiet neighborhood and I have a view of the street. In winter I'm surrounded by the sounds of shoveling and snow blowing, or my favorite sound, the city snowplow that always sounds like it's digging up the pavement. In the summer it's lawnmowers and weed trimmers. In my backyard it's the farmer and the noise of his tractor and the smell of his fertilizer. Inside my office, my space, it's just me and the beads and the string and my tools. In that room it's quiet. In that room, my family gives me space so I can work. I tell myself it's because they want me to have that time to work, but I think it has more to do with the sign that says, "Trespassers will be Prosecuted."

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