I dreamed of an old friend last night and got on to memories I have not thunk possibly ever.
Relay in writing, I like that.
In high school art class there was a small yellow and gray streaked glasshouse off to one side that sat out into a small light shaft. It was off-sight of the art teachers so they had no clue to what was happening inside. You had the teachers buffaloed.
But now thinking about it, that green house was a fishbowl to the cafeteria across the way.
A potters wheel was wedged between short bleachers of plants and supplies. I preferring hand building — since they said I was no good at throwing pots, the product being too chunky and not elegant. But that didn’t keep me from trying. I was in the process of making, as a neighbor was ‘enhancing.' This friend was obviously in need of a something to focus on. He chose one of the still wet deep walled mugs and slowly, oh so carefully carved out niche in the the side and added chips of tiny mud, choosing any array of micro triangular, tubular and spherical pieces all into al area 1 inch in diameter. He worked so carefully it was scary, and so close his nose scraped the clay. When he was satisfied, he straighten up, and a with dawning on his face that happens way too in-often, looked at me wide eyed and awestruck.
“It’s the universe Imploding.”
It has been a wicked deja vu week.