The task is accepted, the hands begin to move. The precision underscores itself - your needs have been understood so thoroughly, that you wonder if you originally were aware of them yourself.

The movement from stage to stage is seamless, though you can see that tasks beyond them are also in the mix. Confounding factors are obvious and recurrent through your time, each woven into the rhythm of achievements you can see. It's as if external complexities were anticipated, in the way one fathoms tides. As if movements of the air, or of the stars, betrayed the intent of the troubles to arise.

It's certain that the eyes were never used.

Their widenings and narrowings are reserved for just the effort made for you. They guide the expertise that animates matching the charge you've laid on. You can feel a special rightness being woven in those hands - from curiosity more than will, you are absorbed in how it's made.

Your appreciation flows before you'd guessed, or planned, it would. Your posture shifts, in a fashion you note only later. You realize it only through discerning how the response has changed with your change, how it was factored into motions underway.

One last flourish satisfies, delineates the final shape. Temperatures are perfect, impedance matched: it's for you. Your only right move is acceptance, for there's nothing there that's wrong.

It was crafted for that reason: important simply for itself, and for the giving of it, and for you to receive.

I would like to go back to that, please, at the universe's earliest convenience. Do tell me when I might begin again.