Rambling Words, Rambling Wheels

I could have left it right where it was, that small chunk of clear jewel. It had been there for weeks, months, maybe years. I could have left it right where it was, that small chunk of clear jewel. It had been there for weeks, months, maybe years. Future generations may have heralded it was evidence of an advanced yet simple race. Its clarity would declare the purity of our ideals. Its markings confess our desire to quantify. Its shape portend its function.

Some future archaeologist would give a name to the site. ?Clear Crystal? or ?Broken Jar?...why not ?Suburban Waste?? A yet unknown paleontologist would construct, no, fabricate a complete vessel from the shard, just as entire beasts are built from the scraps of their beings.

Would we buy off on the design? Would the fabrication reveal the fabric of our lives?

Not today.

That shard ? that broken, fragmented, sharp piece of glass ? will never reveal the jar it once was. It laid in the dirt until today. It laid in the dirt on the path that lead to my daughter?s school. Waiting to cut a shoe or foot. Waiting to be hurled as a weapon of little destruction.

Until now.

Until I picked it up and unceremoniously dropped it in a sewer hole.

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