Last night, sadness loomed in only a way that sadness can loom.
I arrived home to find my large, over-sized window flung open. Waves of freezing cold air came undulating through my apartment turning it into a cold, desolate cave. And then I saw them.
Years ago, when I was a marooding caravaner strolling through the dry deserts of the Middle East, I happened upon a small hut - quite like most clay huts one would imagine seeing in an arid desert. But in this hut was a lonely pottery thrower. You see, they call people who make things from pottery "throwers". I don't know why because they don't really "throw" the pottery (or clay). Otherwise that could get very messy, very quickly. But I deviate. I walked into this unairconditioned hut and parted with a few Bahraini Dinars for a few pieces of hand-thrown pottery. I was most proud.
My four pieces of hand-thrown pottery made it across the deserts, across the Atlantic Ocean, and across the vast plains of the American wilderness. And all arrived in-tact.
And last night, the wind blew the window open and the window decided it didn't like two of my pottery pieces sitting up on the built-in book shelf, so off they went. And now this is what they look like.
I was sad and morose for a short time for verily these are not items one can pick up from Macy's downtown. But then again, they are merely "things".
Pity though. They were beautiful. And at least I still have two other pieces left.
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