With one hand on each far edge, I had to hold my arms chest-height, wide as the frame and stiff as a waltz. Like that, with nothing touching but glove to frame, I held it close as a partner in a formal dance. And two hours later I'd retrace the steps, glide it back into the vault, and close the door.

Maybe no one understands smallness better than a child. Maybe no one is more invested in scale. Certainly my friend was old enough to grapple with what is and what isn't. We start early on the project of what is fleeting and what will stay.

Outside was the beach, somewhere between the darkness and the light, and nothing was moving, neither in the air nor on the land nor on the water. Even the white waves rolling in to the sands seemed to me to be motionless.