This little cup captures somehow and holds within it for me the warm colors and the festive anticipation of the coming season, and calls to mind the memory of the precise day a favorite Aunt gave it to me, which was the last time I saw her.
Originally there were two, one belonging to my mother. Somehow when she sold the house, it was gone. This one was rescued.
It bears a hairline crack, and some wear affecting the delicate details, just as even the finest bookbinding will over the years show the signs of loving use.
Today Aunt Shirley’s house has been sold, too, and when I visited her grave it was covered with golden autumn leaves.
