The sky on the jigsaw lid

An original commentary about completing a jigsaw puzzle.

The sky on the jigsaw lid looks effortless. Blue stretches above a hill, interrupted by two clouds whose main responsibility appears to be making the landscape pleasant. On the table, the same sky has become several dozen people refusing to introduce themselves.

I try a piece beside another. They almost fit, which is worse than an immediate refusal. A pale edge suggests cloud, then betrays me by belonging to a patch of light much farther across the picture. The lid continues displaying the complete view with an optimism I increasingly resent.

Slowly, a small group forms. One blue shape finds a white border. Another arrives beside it, making the first choice more convincing. The pieces begin supplying evidence about one another. I had wanted each one to announce its own address; now the neighbourhood is doing some of the work.

I still look at the lid. The overall picture gives a reason for the slow attention at the table. But it cannot make any one uncertain join become certain merely by looking beautifully finished.

When the last cloud is in place, the sky becomes ordinary again. I sit for a minute before putting it away. It seems worth remembering how much conversation was required to make something look so quietly inevitable.

Examine the methods the writer uses to contrast the finished jigsaw image with the experience of assembling it.