The Ocean in the Cup
a single tea leaf raft riding the near swell with a beetle standing on it, one claw raised, entirely certain of the crossing.
the whole specimen
far off a horizon where the tea meets a sky of pale porcelain, the curve of the cup rising like white cliffs all the way around the world.
the middle distance a swell of amber water with a sugar cube iceberg calving into it, and a lemon slice sun sitting low and golden on the surface.
close enough to touch a single tea leaf raft riding the near swell with a beetle standing on it, one claw raised, entirely certain of the crossing.
The Matchstick Lumber Camp
the cut end of a fresh matchstick log on the near bank, sawdust piled beside it, still faintly warm to look at.
the whole specimen
far off a forest of matchsticks standing shoulder to shoulder with their red tips still unstruck, going blue with distance.
the middle distance a felled stack of them roped on a sled, the sawyers' camp with a curl of smoke, and one tree mid fall with its tip already smoking from the friction.
close enough to touch the cut end of a fresh matchstick log on the near bank, sawdust piled beside it, still faintly warm to look at.
The Ship Still Rigging Her Sails
a coil of rope and a bosun's whistle on the near deck rail, and one sailor sitting with his legs over the side, resting.
the whole specimen
far off the great curved wall of green glass with the world outside bent and swimming beyond it, and a cork sky stoppered overhead.
the middle distance a three masted ship at anchor on a sea of blue thread, her sails half bent to the yards, a crew the size of grass seeds hauling on lines.
close enough to touch a coil of rope and a bosun's whistle on the near deck rail, and one sailor sitting with his legs over the side, resting.
The Dome Over the Deep
a boot print in the near silt already softening, and one bright bubble the size of a fist rising past you.
the whole specimen
far off the silver ceiling of a thimble seen from beneath, its dimples glowing like a hall of little windows, and a green depth falling away past its rim.
the middle distance the dome resting on the bed of a puddle with lantern light spilling from its doorway, divers in canvas suits walking out across the silt.
close enough to touch a boot print in the near silt already softening, and one bright bubble the size of a fist rising past you.
The Clockwork Orchard
a fallen wheel in the near grass with a bite taken out of it, and a mainspring uncoiling gently like a shoot looking for light.
the whole specimen
far off rows of brass trees whose canopies are toothed wheels, all turning slowly together, escapements ticking down the long avenue.
the middle distance an orchardist on a ladder oiling a blossom, baskets of gathered cogs beneath the branches, one tree flowering into a fan of tiny springs.
close enough to touch a fallen wheel in the near grass with a bite taken out of it, and a mainspring uncoiling gently like a shoot looking for light.
The Town That Keeps Its Winter
a snowman on the near slope with coal eyes, and a child's mitten dropped in the snow beside him, still holding its shape.
the whole specimen
far off a domed sky with the snow already falling out of nowhere, and a hand the size of a mountain range just beyond the glass, blurred and kind.
the middle distance a small town under permanent drifts, every window lit, a church, a bakery, a sledding hill worn smooth by a hundred years of the same afternoon.
close enough to touch a snowman on the near slope with coal eyes, and a child's mitten dropped in the snow beside him, still holding its shape.
The Harbour Made of Ink
a half written word floating on the near surface, letters coming apart into the water and drifting off as ripples.
the whole specimen
far off a night sea of black ink under a rim of brass horizon, with the cliff of a nib rising over it all like a lighthouse of steel.
the middle distance paper boats putting out from a quay of blotting paper, their sails still wet, a crane dipping the nib to load them.
close enough to touch a half written word floating on the near surface, letters coming apart into the water and drifting off as ripples.
The Walnut Ark
a splash of rainwater across the near gunwale and a mouse holding the tiller with both hands, sure of the course.
the whole specimen
far off a warm brown sky of shell ribs curving overhead, grain running like weather across it, and rain coming down beyond the open stern.
the middle distance the shell riding a swell with lantern light in her hold, pairs of small animals at the rail watching the water, a ladder up to the lookout.
close enough to touch a splash of rainwater across the near gunwale and a mouse holding the tiller with both hands, sure of the course.
The Room Behind the Portrait
a cup of tea on the near table with the steam still rising, and one long hair caught in the clasp light like a wire.
the whole specimen
far off an oval wall the colour of old gold, curving all the way around, hung with a single small painting of a face nobody in the room has ever met.
the middle distance a parlour with two chairs pulled close, a fire that has been burning for forty years, and a table set for a visit that keeps being about to happen.
close enough to touch a cup of tea on the near table with the steam still rising, and one long hair caught in the clasp light like a wire.
The House That Dreams It Is Bigger
a thimble on the near floor being used as a wastepaper basket, and a door left ajar onto a hallway far too long for the house.
the whole specimen
far off a papered wall with a painted window on it, and through that painted window a real garden going on for miles in proper daylight.
the middle distance a doll's parlour where the furniture is growing to full size room by room, a staircase that starts wooden and turns to stone halfway up.
close enough to touch a thimble on the near floor being used as a wastepaper basket, and a door left ajar onto a hallway far too long for the house.
Tiny Worlds
Ten things on a shelf. Ten places inside them. Paint your piece of the shelf.
Your piece fits on the shelf just so. There is always room for one more small thing.
The shelves are dusted and empty. Set out the first frame.
The candle leans, and holds.
Ten doors are open behind you. This was the last one, and it was the smallest.