He walks down the street measured and slow, head up and shoulders back. Purpose evident in every stride and yet, he takes his time. He stops and looks inside the can, moving aside rotting vegetation and last nights dinner. He see’s beneath the cast off of suburban life, a treasure. He gathers it up and places it in his sack. He moves on. He stops at each house and looks inside the rejects of his neighbors, looking for treasure in what others deem useless and used.
They think he’s crazy as he moves from house to house in the early hours of the morning. What does this old man do with their trash. He bends over, again, rummaging through a box of unwanted things, then smiles and slips something else in his sack.
He returns to his house with energy, excited by his find. Bottles, glasses, dishes, cups and mirrors, all of them cracked and used. Broken things no one wants except him. He places them on his bench and gently lays them out. Like a mortician covering a body he lays a tarp across them. Then smashes them with his mallet, once, twice and then again. He breaks them all apart.
He lights the fire and heats the metal carefully. His hands are scarred and burned. With care he takes the broken glass and positions them just right. He moves them about as if he is working a puzzle. Its a picture only he can see. The heat from molten lead is intense, he pours it carefully and seals them together.
Satisfied at last, his brow laden with sweat, he looks at what he has made. Sunlight dances through them and shimmers on the wall. Beauty and color dance about him, his vision now complete.
From destruction can come life and beauty, if we are willing to risk the heat.
Written by D.B. Dean on April 28, 2010 at 12:00pm
Originally Published on Thinkingten.com