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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> History >> ID #1339138 |
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Today my wife and I bought an antique
oaken bucket that once serviced a well-- a commonplace item then, now unique. Centuries old, what stories it might tell. Perhaps it hung over a well at some farm, providing cool water to quench farmhands’ midday thirst. To us that’s part of its charm, wondering whether it helped cultivate lands. Or maybe it drew water from a well, placed in the center of town square, where housewives gathered fresh water and gossip as they faced a new day, both essential in their humdrum lives. With its curved, wooden sections held tightly in place with two metal bands and a strip of metal reinforcing its wooden handle, rightly it once would’ve drawn water with barely a drip. Time and hard use have left their mark. The oak sides now are nicked and gouged, the metal bands thinned and loosened. Yet these blemishes provoke admiration, for that’s what this bucket demands.
© Copyright 2007 Harry (UN: harryg at Writing.Com).
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