Day Twenty-Five

E.B. White sitting in an attic at a wooden table, on a bench leaning up against the wall, with a widow to his left and a typewriter and paper in front of him. His hands are never idle. He never turns his head to look out the window. He just stares at his fingers as they punch the keys. He doesn't even realize he is alone in the attic. He is somewhere else surrounded by people, being a part of something he is creating that is greater than himself. Close your eyes and picture yourself in black and white like E. B. White sitting in the attic................................