Jane unwrapped the boxes. Between linens and scarves, she happened upon small treasures. "Portable Art," she called them. A mirror from Spain. The spray-painted stencil of a sandpiper came from her sister. They tell stories, she thought.
Jane placed a small Buddha statue, a memoir from Thailand, in a small alcove near her front door. As she crossed the room, she stubbed her toe on the spine of a book. "So many books," she thought. Littered across the floors of her new apartment were tomes on education, journals of her past, picture books and novels. Jane's fondness for books was something she had inherited from her mom.