Another student, after drawing that leaf from a paper bag passed around the table, said "time", hm.
He grew silent. The next five or six classmates weren't keen either. About half way around, one tossed down the bag and said let's write new words. Which we did, quicker this time.
The words became objects, in other words, that would better serve as prompts for six or seven hundred words of prose.
I drew wooden spoon. So far my essay reads my teaching practice in the spoon. It could just as easily read the open 6th-floor lounge of Lloyd Hall at the Banff Centre, already three weeks past. Time has a way, all right.