My Old Swedish Chair
It's true about beauty in the eye of the beholder. My old Swedish chair has seen better days, but I think my Swedish heritage (mother's side) heartstrings plays a tune for its worn wood.
Like most who come across an old piece of furniture, I too, wonder its travels, and the stories it could tell. I imagine they would be such stories, that I would sit quite a while at its feet (as there is no seat) and listen all night long to its tales.
With a fresh blanket of snow, my old Swedish chair felt right at home. She seemed very content standing near the old wire and wood fence amongst the dry twigs. I think it sort of made her stately among the wire fence and dried leaves.
In the cold winter, as life slows down a bit, we tend to slow down too. We don't want to slip and fall, so we suddenly admire the dried, the twisted, the rusty, and the old, as we grasp for those sturdy enough to hold us up. Suddenly a blanket of snow makes things new again.
Once the snow melts, we will once again be sure-footed and clip along with a faster pace. Maybe the fence won't be so pretty, and the vines will be overlooked, and the wood fence needs mending instead of intriguing. But my beloved old Swedish chair always invites me to stop and remember that function is not always a necessity, as is the ability to produce a peaceful pause.
May you find time for a peaceful pause.
from my house to your house,