Resting his tools for a minute, the old man closed his eyes and felt the air around him for hints, asking it what he should capture next. He, with his old skin and his old hair and his old hands, rose to walk along the riverbank, and lifted a stone from the ground. “Too round,” he said, and dropped it, listening to it clatter against the other stones lying around his feet. He, with his old skin and old hair and old hands, walked further along the bank, and lifted another stone from the ground. “Not round enough,” he said, and dropped it, listening to it clatter against the other stones lying around his feet. He, with his old skin and old hair and old hands, walked even further along the bank, and lifted a third stone from the ground. “This is the one that has been calling to me,” he said, and turned around, walking back to his hut where his tools were laid out.

Lifting a smaller, rougher stone from among his tools, he began to rub it against the large rock he had brought from the river bank, smoothing the edges, rounding the corners, and creating a diamond shape to the front of it. As he pushed back the face to reveal the nose, he began to repeat, “Oh creation of my hands, hold the vision I give you.” He paused once the general shape of the face had become the shape of a mask, and closed his eyes to concentrate, falling silent. One moment passed, but he did not move. Another moment passed, and still he did not move. A third moment passed, and he suddenly reached up with unexpected agility and grabbed at the air. He opened his eyes, smiling, and slowly began to stretch out what he saw onto the mask he had created. Once his vision was taut across the stone, he held it with one hand while carving out face-length eyelashes and tracing the edges of the eyes and the nose with the other hand. “Mask of my making, I command you to hold this spirit, and to protect it.” He repeated himself once, “Mask of my making, I command you to hold this spirit, and to protect it,” and then again, “Mask of my making, I command you to hold this spirit, and to protect it.” Satisfied, he leaned back, admiring his work, and admiring the power of the mask, and admiring his own power. Captured in that stone was a part of what he’d seen, made real by his hands and captured by the mask he’d given it.