The Old Jug
Someone had made it for them. I didn’t remember who, but I could hardly remember a time it wasn’t somewhere in the house. It was sturdy and just the right size for things. Water? Iced tea? Sometimes, though more often for water and flowers or branches or found stems. Rambling arrangements of greenery which spilled and burst over the sturdy sides.
It was handsome that jug. It sat pleasingly on the sideboard toning in with the cedar top. Neutral colours the perfect backdrop to the green colours from nature. One day it got a chip in the top. I can’t remember why or how. All I know is I couldn’t throw it away. It was a part of the household. Part of the lives, silently holding green leaves or solidly sitting.