Unglazed ~ Sage

A small terra cotta pot sits on the shelf. Imperfect. Amateur. Unglazed.

I cradle it in my hands, feeling the rough ridges of the clay, placing my thumb over the impression of a misplaced fingerprint, wondering why it is unfinished.

I visualize the strong, thick hands of the man I never met, but whose eyes I have stared into, soaking up the twinkle that I see in the the old black and white photographs from the years before I was born.

He was handsome. Strong. Laughing. Loving.

He had a space between his teeth…and he left that to me. I never heard his voice, felt his hug, smelt his aftershave. He died too young, a few months before I was born…

His life seems unfinished. Unglazed.

Turning the pot over, I use my finger to trace the initials on the bottom…R.H. Robert Holland. My grandfather. I wonder why I never met him. And how life would be different if I had. But that is the past. And those questions are futile.

I form a pot…the wet clay molding to my fingers as the wheel turns. I am also a vessel. Being molded and formed and fired. I want to be used…to be loved…to fulfill the purpose The Potter has…

For now, I am imperfect. Amateur. Unglazed.

From~ Something Sage

Photos by Tera