Faced with such obstacles, the sculptor retreated. What did you expect? Passion can make one forget about discomfort and basic needs temporarily, but those things don’t go away. All it needs is one shock to bring a person back to reality with everything once ignored placing pressure. The sculptor wanted to continue sculpting but the cold temperature and how messy he was deterred him.

He left the water and that was the end of his inspiration. That was it; it was over. No more sculpture and even if one was made, it wouldn’t be the same. It might be similar, he might remember his inspiration, he would try his hardest, but it wouldn’t happen. He’d settle for less or come up with a new idea. The ideas he had were lost to the ravages of time and thought.

The next day, the sculptor came back futilely. He held the pick, but it was held loosely and without much confidence. His eyes latched onto the boulder, but he couldn’t get a grip. It was as if his confidence had a landfall. Stepping into the water, he flinched back from the cold depths that had replaced his inspiration. He looked at the boulder and the water for a few seconds before a thought came to mind and he left.

Escape. Never to come again. Why did he need to sculpt anyways? Could he not just go back home and find something more stable and safe? Without inspiration, what was the point? The hobby turned into a chore. It was amusing but it became something he did just because and now he stopped. How envious? Perhaps, he’d pick up a new hobby and look back at this point and laugh.