The Old Tiny Copper Tea Pot- (Unfinished)

In the darkness of the full and isolating forest, an old disjointed cabin; it's foundation like old dry, brittle sticks, much like the old woman who resides there.

Her frail and weak body resting soundly on her ancient rocking chair and in the background an old, quaint shelf, engulfed in cobwebs and better days lay; resting a tiny copper tea pot.

It's shape once round and whole had become warped with one side jutting out slightly over the many years of neglect. It's crude appearance overwhelming with tarnish, spotting and dust much like callus on skin.


It lay on the shelf, alone, dejected and disguarded; the old woman had long since given up on this prize. It had now become too heavy to lift, to difficult to hold; to troublesome to boil. Even so a sense of hope

and possibilities still flowed through the tiny spout,It could remember the first time it was boiled, the feeling of an excessive warmth rushing throughout like a enormous overflowing blanket. It could remember the sweet smelling teas, of countless kinds.

It could remember the happiness it felt by simply being needed.