Seaglass

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I found a piece of rose seaglass, it's surface a fan of ridges. I knew instantly I was holding depression glass between my fingers. Perhaps it was once a plate or a bowl. I turned it over, the smooth edges a frosted pale pink.

Had it graced a family's table?
She stepped back from the linen topped table, a smile on her face. It was perfect. Smoothing her skirt she risked a quick glance at the clock ticking on the mantel. He'd be home soon. Pale pink glass held his favorite dishes. She pressed a hand to her stomach imagining she could feel life. She smiled. He'd be so happy.
Had it collected dust?
He swept the feather duster across the top of the plate. His mom had had one just like it. Old fashioned fluting decorated the edges while swirls formed the bottom. He wondered if she still collected the junk of if she'd finally traded it in for something more durable.
How had it happened to find its way into the trash? After all, most seaglass was just that. Discarded refuse.
The noise startled her. The cup she was drying shattered as it hit the floor. 
"Why would you do this to me?" she cried in pain. She picked up the plate sitting in the dish rack and threw it against the wall. 
"No one wants that junk, honey. Just toss it." She knew he was right. It was old fashioned and poorly made. With a sigh, she dropped it in the bin.
I set it down and picked up another piece, the letter "R" deeply inset. I'd read the previous evening these brown pieces were typically from mundane Clorox bottles, an everyday household item of such boring origins.

Still, there was a story in each piece.

They'd been used and discarded, tossed into the sea and pounded by the surf. They'd been reformed, reshaped, yet clung to a remnant of their old lives. They had traveled for years only to be washed up on the shore at that precise spot at that precise time to catch the light in that precise way and be picked up by three people a thousand miles from home in a place they'd never before visited.

There was a miracle in each shard.

I held a frosted green bit to the sun and felt affinity strum my heart.
I was once whole and beautiful. The light shone through me like a treasure until I was discarded. I went over the cliff and shattered into dozens of pieces. I was drowned, pummeled, and tossed. I was transformed. My edges were softened and smoothed until I became something whole and beautiful yet again. 
 

4 comments:

Cameron Garriepy

This piece says so much about who you are: past, present, future, all gorgeous and tenacious.

Kir [Reply]

Wwhat a beautiful way to spend a vacation, sifting, sorting and discovering. I loved the way you described the colors of the glass and how you each gravitated toward one or the other.

Kir [Reply]

Weaving, it is what you are so wonderful with.
You weave stories.

Julie Gardner

Incredible analogies here.
Beauty in every snippet, each word, your imagination.

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