Comfort in shadows.

 Here is a cozy nook, a quiet corner, a shadowy station with a silent sentry. Standing and bothering no one, taking what little room is needed, but filling the space with unimposing and unassuming dignity. A simple clay pot filled with brittle branches, tucked away to the side. How could such a thing evoke strong feelings, but with simple beauty coincide? A forgotten ornament for which greatness was the intent, now left alone to it's own thoughts and quiet laments.   

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