The monk sat on the stone floor of the courtyard, with her eyes closed. In her mind, she was pouring fine sand onto the substrate of her consciousness, creating ever so beautiful patterns that it made her smile, but when she opened her eyes, she was not able to recreate what she had seen. Frustration welled up from her stomach through her chest; she let go of the sand and took a deep breath.

Her students were now flooding the courtyard; loud and full of energy, they gathered around her, marveling at her art with all its imperfections, only she could see. They were soon silent, rapt by their own work, and as she walked the courtyard and realized how far they all had come with their beautiful, imperfect creations, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders and craved the coarse feeling of sand in her hands once more.

#mastoprompt #monk #wss366 #recreate #writing #microfiction #tootfic #smallstories