The stone terrace is made of assorted marble and stone. The tradition for this area is a porous travertine (naturally non-slip for outdoor use). It’s mixed with bits of red and green and grey.

Several sections have come loose. I’ve tried to get replacement pieces, but the construction method has gone out of style and none of the rock shops sell the correct thickness. While searching the shops we also collected bits and pieces that had come loose and then been repurposed as door stops or props for this and that around the house. We returned them all to the terrace and there weren’t any more holes.

Now Tim is repairing. He did all the professional part, removing, leveling, cleaning, mixing the colle (glue). I come along at the end to arrange the stones anew.

When you take anything apart it has a gravitas which seems to both insist and promise to come back into its natural and only order. But after tasting freedom the parts seem reluctant and reticent. In the case of a machine, we must force them back with notes and expertise. In the case of a mosaic it doesn’t really matter.

As I shuffle the pieces, turning and banging them together, I move quickly through the phases of creativity. Blockage, clarity, delight, disaster.

I say to Tim, “this is such a lesson in how many different right ways there are to do something.” The stones easily get themselves unstuck. I follow their suggestions, lines and jags that match or don’t.

I can taste when I am trusting myself and moving intuitively, and when I’m trying to figure it out. A triangular stone isn’t always the most beautiful thing to put in a triangular space.

Often I am sure that I want a certain stone just here. I am committed. I try 10 ways to fit others around. Then I dare to displace my own shibboleths – and tumble into an unfolding of synchronicities I had not seen.

I found a rhythm between focus and defocusing, determination and play, commitment and chance.