A year ago today I was leaving California after being there for over five months.
I went to California because my brother was seriously ill.
Meanwhile, Covid was creating a new passage for everyone.
My time at home was an extended gift, not perfect but perfect.
A year since I have seen my family it feels so odd yet familiar.
So much more happened this year than I ever dared imagine.
This shattered pitcher I bought the other day at the brocante. It is from the 1700s and many many moons
ago someone glued it back together.
Nevertheless, here it is three hundred years later
broken,
cannot hold water,
some would say useless, others would say art.
Of course, I want to know the back story, gee I am curious to know how it has been lucky enough never to have been discarded!
The story is in the wounds.
Imperfection perfection three hundred years later.
Passed down through time, landed unexpectedly in my care.
We do not know what five seconds ahead of us will bring
we cannot dwell on it either. The path is and will be uneven.
Yet, I hold on to the hidden beauty,
to believe that love strong and steady
will be there to hold us together
with compassionate glue.
"…We hold a treasure
Not made of gold
In earthen vessels, wealth untold…" J.Foley
If when we are broken the treasure does not leave.
Some would see the broken pitcher not given it a second thought,
not me.
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