not even a memory of it's well crafted younger self...
it carries the memories, with it's partner on the other side,
of every slab and sliver of wood I have fired wood pots with...
it's been black, repeatedly red with heat and slathered with post firing slip to seal it from air intrusion...
it is so warped and misshapen it doesn't close anymore with anything resembling evenness...
yet, still, I want it's memories to bless the new pots
with it's thoughts of older ones...
with it's thoughts of older ones...
so I accommodate it...
I continue to use it, to benefit from it's memory and it's energy...
I continue to use it, to benefit from it's memory and it's energy...
there are many types of craftsmanship
it takes many forms...
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