The Pale Path

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 11:38:30 -

The Pale Path

The bowl was chipped. A small fracture ran along the rim, jagged and white against the blue glaze. You held it in your hands. It was cold. The clay felt dry. You had made it. Three days of work. Three days of dust on your skin. The fire was hot. The kiln breathed. You waited. The wheel spun. You shaped the earth. It became a vessel. Now it was broken. Not broken. Cracked. A flaw. You saw it....

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