We know about the sword out of the stone theory, here is the carrier bag theory of fiction. Ursula le Guin prefers the bag, not the sword, as story, as sentence, the contents of your bag.
If it is a human thing to do to put something you want, because it's useful, edible or beautiful, into a bag, or a basket, or a bit of rolled bark or leaf, or a net woven of your own hair, or what have you, and then take it home with you, home being another, larger kind of pouch or bag, a container for people, and then later you take it out and eat it or share it or store it up for winter in a solider container or put it in the medicine bundle or the shrine or the museum, the holy place, the area that contains what is sacred, and then next day you probably do the same again — if to do that is human, if that's what it takes, then I am a human being after all.
At home when I pick blackberries or go up the garden for salad or veg, at the market buying fish on a Wednesday, I am the woman with the basket, and yes, there's a freedom in having the fruits of your gathering to bring back in a basket, and process in due time, or just after, or breaking off mid-phrase, like the wood pigeon.
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