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I am walking along my neighbourhood street searching in my mind for the finishing touch that will complete the pot that I am working on. It is a tall twisting building that sways like a tree. It is made of layered hidden containers and has tiny windows. On the sides two painted swallows fly by. It is about living in the city and musing on what the land might have held before all this cement was poured onto it. Who inhabited this place where I am walking now?  So many layers, so much experience. A search for balance. My eye catches the dull glint of something on the sidewalk. It is rusty and there is a hole in the middle. It looks to be from some old machine. Picking it up I imagine bits of street junk and twigs joined together to make a figure that could balance on the rooftop of my pot. Balance