He is young and small,

surrounded by youth much taller

and mostly older,

feeling invisible.

They came by stealth

Any tine of the day, till full dark

But never head high

Always low, near the ground.

Hammers pounding, scoring leather

The scrape of knives on wood

creating chess pieces or arrows or other

shapes of personal interest.

Spinning wheel and clay and water,

producing a pot, bowl, or vase

Brush on canvas, a splash of color

Soon a painting.

He was trying to make a chess piece.

It was his way of challenging himself

Of fitting in with the others busy making things

The storm passed,

a great storm,

full of violence and majesty

Clouds breaking, a little

Sun peaking through shining in patches of gold