Things get broken

Broken things flock here.

Seeking, they fly in unbeckoned – purposefully.

Hoping that broken doesn’t mean lost – useless.

(Still picking up the pieces trying to figure that out.)

They appear. Broken, but kept.

This imported crackle-crazed bird tile.

Only one left – others already nesting in decorative locations.

Left flightless in the box. No destination listed.

“Want it? Here, take it.”

Settled quietly among oddities and curios until given it wings by artists and writers.

The pale bird of a multicolored trio from Mexico.

Decapitated and de-tailed during shipping migration.

It’s eyes wide in panic. Now useless? (Memories of frantic notes by other unfortunates.)

Will the disfigurement leave it in pieces? (Wills the glue to hold.)

Fortunate that elaborate design kindly hides unintended imperfections.

Amigos don’t mind in the least.

Fallen, but not shattered, the terracotta dove must have called.

Left behind.

Its’ Tree of Life perch carried off. The vacant branch unseen.

Crushed spirit soon to be matched by crushed under foot?

Noticed. Collected.

Rerouted to watch over the garden.

Outdoors preferred – despite the potential to slowly melt away

Dust to dust seems appropriate.

Once a perched in a representation of the The Garden, so not too far afield.

Far from the original rock that birthed it, is the carved stone Moroccan bird.

Certainly rough. Some say crude and poor.

It hardly had a chance among the high-quality expensive products showcased for tourists.

The shop girl’s lips tightened as she wrapped their purchases.

Her movements quick, efficient, and emotionless.

Then the grey bird on the counter.

She looked up. Her eyes brightened.

Carefully she tucked padding around it. Swaddling it with great care.

It wasn’t costly, but obviously, it was precious.

She smiled. We struggled with the only common language; my French being so poor.

The sturdy little box in flight longer than any rock could have possibly imagined.

Some rocks have more confidence, like marble.

Is it that all the family treasures were already promised to others?

More likely saw a kindred spirit? One who’d see and understand.

A marble bird bath. From Italy. From when she was young.

Remnant of an era when families toured the Continent with large steamer trunks.

Trips meant to add “finish” to daughters before marriage. (“Polish” them like a table?)

A little bird broken off here. One missing there. A soft beak there rounded with age.

 Carefully handed over. Safe from practical sensible people.

The birds still carefully perch. No glue ever manages to hold.

But wobbly perching seems appropriate somehow.

Between the wolves and the chickens, it’s complicated.
(Anne Anderson,1874-1930.US Public domain: expired copyright/life of artist/ Commons.wikimedia.org)

Things get broken. That’s life.

Some tossed aside. Some mended. Some accepted in their present form.

It’s a person’s response to the “broken” that is intriguing.

Some toss and buy new. (Discarders)

Some mend – and mend – and gladly mend repeatedly. (Healers)

Some shrug and say “Well, it’s different than designed, but it works well if used liked this.” (Visionaries)

Human are pretty cracked creatures.

Is it kindness or politeness or lack of interest to ignore the cracks and defects?

In any case, they all have their roles:

The discarders,

The healers

The visionaries.

Uncertain as Night. (Herrfurth 1862-1934.US public domain: reprod of PD art/artist life+70/Commons.wikimedia.org)

How does each react when hope or faith or trust is broken?

Guess that’s the measure of a person – of a soul.

Things get broken in life.

How fortunate an elaborate design kindly hides unintended imperfections.

And that perching sometimes works when glue doesn’t.

Gathering thought and flights,

Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.

Seriously, where to now? America’s Got Talent?
(1913 Andersen’s fairy tales.William Heath,ill.1872-1944.US public domain expired copyright: publication date/Commons.wikimedia.org)