Once my attention is drawn to the framing I see nothing else. Gaps where the art should be. I pledge aloud my dedication to the men who make frames to keep their treasured objects. He says sidescuttle and scudding and tinkles a mobile of pink sea glass. He found it at the gift shop in a place I wasn’t looking and bought it before we entered the exhibits. Tinkle tinkle I hear in every exhibit and between them as we walk.