From the antique stretches the open hand of generations long passed.
To the light of day the antiques are ever-new, for it touches them the same now as it did at their birth.
Antiques adorned the room as subtle strings upon which travel the finest emotions of past times.
And there they were, the gems of times past, the expressions of the human soul that echo our own. Darcy wondered between them, taking in the curves of each, letting her brain think as perhaps the makers did. To her, each one of them was tiny time machine, or perhaps a window into other eras and they ways they related to God and nature.
Laurel turned the antique vase over and over, her eyes following the engravings, enchanted. Her mind spun back to centuries before, one day someone carved this with such love in their heart, how else could it be so beautiful? Style goes in and out of fashion, perhaps that's how it ended up being cast out with the mass produced junk that surrounded it. But Laurel knew that the vase could never be trash, it was like touching history, like a time machine connecting her to someone who lived and loved so long ago.
Antiques are my drug. How can I resist peeking into the past, holding an object that has travelled through more time than a person can. I love the rough textures of the old clays, the smoothness of the fine woods and the vibrancy of the later glazes. I could admire the craft of the maker all day, try to fathom how long it took them to hone the skills to make such a fine artifact. Each one was made by a master of their craft and stands as my inspiration to master my own.