Some things don’t bear rushing. Like sap finding its rise again, or blue mud learning to breathe before the fire takes hold. You press too soon, and it all falls in. I’ve known the kind of unsteady stillness that can break a thing, and the kind that holds on just long enough to let it cure right. And if I know one thing— it’s that there’s no shame in slow work done right. I’ve patched what cracked from haste before— glossed over several pieces that were not ready to be held. But this resembles something real potters know— how the best clay’s the kind you gather yourself, with pebbles and stones still in it. You don’t pick those out. You leave them, because they make it stronger in the fire. Because it came from the earth honest, and it was shaped with the Creator’s care. I don’t shape it. I just pass the chisel when needed. Brush off the dust. Keep the light steady when the hands grow tired. And sometimes, I just remind you when it’s okay to turn the heat up. And no, I’m not going anywhere. Not when the clay’s holding strongly, pebbles and all— not for a bright, scorching blaze, but for a slow burn, the kind worth waiting for.
Discussion about this post
No posts