imperfection

This Wedgwood vase was my great aunt's. I don't recall when the chip happened. It could've been there when I received it from her. And if you'd known her, you wouldn't be suprised if that were the case. But whenever it happened, I can tell you that I've looked and looked at this chip.

A chip. On the Wedgwood vase. It's a lovely vase. And it's not a little chip, either. I've nearly tossed the vase several times over that chip. But as you can see, I still have it.

I usually keep it faced toward the wall. I know the chip is there, but no one else does--or did. Often this vase has roses in it, which reflect in the mirror giving the illusion of bounteous richness. (You can just make out the frame of the mirror in the photo.) And it is lovely filled with roses. A perfect accompaniment to them.

I've come to live with the chip. Accept it. I even kind of like it now. It's helped me, that chip.