The Clay

The clay waited.  Untouched for days as it settled into its surroundings.  Light came and went.  It sensed this more than saw.  Shadows passed infrequently and for long stretches it sat in complete darkness.  Occasionally there was the rustle of papers, or the thunk of a tack.  This too was infrequent, but seemed to accompany the shadows.  And so it was that time passed for the clay, days as indistinct as its own form.

On one such afternoon the shadow returned.  However, rather than passing as it always had before, it lingered.  Soft sounds floated in the air, rhythmic and melodic.  It was then that the clay felt the first change.  Abruptly it felt a separation.  A lessening of its own existence.  Just as suddenly that portion returned, changed and in another place.  The clay absorbed it back into itself and with it the briefest flash of otherness remembered the piece’s time away from itself.  Experiences it now knew it had not been a part of.

Again, the shock of separation and seconds later the insight that came with the return.  It was in this way that the clay discovered change.  Change of self through the actions of another.  It continued.  The shock.  The relief.  For an eternity it seemed to go on, until the clay had no memory of its old form.  It felt jumbled.  Uneasy.  The shadow grew distant.  The noises faded and once again the clay was left alone.  So it waited.  Tingling as the darkness fell around it.

When morning came, for it now thought of the returning light as morning, the clay felt at peace once more with its form.  This was how it was.  Whatever had come before did not matter.


One Response

  1. I enjoyed checking out your blog today and I will be back to check it more in the future so please keep up your good quality work. I love the colors that you chose, you are quite talented!

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