Out on the old dirt road

Tuesday, Mar. 16, 2004 at 11:15 P.M.


I float along in my solitude, winding through the darkened country roads. The worldbeyond the limited range of my high beams does not exist. In my solitude i feel less the pangs of loneliness. In my solitude i am at peace. In my solitude I am released from obligation. In my solitude i can briefly be in my world of what could have been. In my solitude I am free.

I made the excursion this evening to collect pieces from a local potter. Her small homestead houses the garden, livestock, and her small workshop and showroom. The property, encased in its shell of icy snow is not often visited in the winter by those that do not live there. But special arrangements have been made for my private shopping experience. Every visit to My Island provides me with new pieces, why should season make this one any different?

We slip along the ice-laden path carved out across the yard. Only a small flashlight and a bounding border collie show the way.

The small workshop is cold. The fire in the woodstove has not been lit in days, perhaps weeks. We walk through into the small showroom. The inventory is low, she has not replenished her supply for the summer season yet. But the pieces have been left out, arranged in a simple manner on the raw wooden shelving. A slight film of dust has settled on these pieces that have not been moved in months.

I circle the room slowly, eyeing the pieces, only stopping to look at the ones with that certain pattern. My pattern. I shrewdly scan the room for the delicate rosebuds. Only those pieces unfettered with sparrows or bulrushes. No showy blooms will do. Only pieces with the simple rose-colored buds will travel back with me.

This is how i bring some of the best of home back with me. These pieces have clean smooth lines and a creamy porcelain hue. They are not fraught with feelings of unrest or confrontation. No hurt or despair carries itself in these containers. Only the peace and simplicity that epitomize what home could be to me.



bEfOrE ~ AftEr

  • : : :
    wHaT dO u tHiNk ?


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