IT’S JUST A SMALL BROWN wicker basket, not built to hold much –
and a bit tattered from over handling.
It’s beautiful warm browns have dulled and faded with age on the outside –
but inside the natural luster still shines.
It’s top is held in place by make-do leather ties because the first woody hasps were worn in two –
and now dangle loosely, without purpose.
What hands made the airy coffer? I wonder as I stroke the thin smooth fibers.
Was it one as handsome as the tight weaves frayed by time?
Though dust has long since claimed his finger prints – I know that he was a weaver; I imagine that he was a dream weaver…
Diligently intertwining each cane thread with my hopes in mind…
A place to store my breathing dreams so that they could be kept safe and close at hand, amassed in a beautiful fibrous reminder.
A quaint little chest of hope I will one day hand down to a child, a grandchild or perhaps even a great grandchild –
when I have used up its contents.
When I have taken the dusty lid off one last time and felt deep into the corners to make certain I haven’t left any ideas untouched…
I imagine when I offer it up to him (or her) they will look at me like I’m crazy (and I may well be) then they’ll tear the lid off, expecting to find a treasure of sorts before saying with disappointment,
“It’s just an empty old basket.”
It is then I will share with them the wishes and ideas that were stored and later born of that basket.
How they were kept safe till I could see them come to fruition.
And one more time I will imagine the handsome dark skinned man who meticulously weaved the wonderful piece…
a place to store my dreams because dreams need room to breathe.
Then I will show them how to place their own aspirations into the old auburn chest with caution to keep them safe, to nurture their hopes and give them time to mature. And if my last wish were to come true I will see them realize the birth of their visions.
*I adore woven baskets and this bit of prose was inspired by one of my favorites.
The Chest of Hope was taken from Getting me Back