Mundane observations in an otherwise interesting world.

I went to an art exhibition today, and saw an object that struck me as odd.  (Not exactly a flowery word choice, but adequate none the less.)   It wasn’t at the gallery; the object was a jar located on a shelf in an antique store next door to the exhibition.  

The white label simple stated,         

#47              $18       Click here for image            

JAR OF CHERUBS                      

Why it registered in any way with me I don’t know, but I kept returning to the dusty wooden bookshelf to look into the jar.  Staring back at me were tiny synthetic cherubs hovering against the thin glass; specimens collected and preserved.

I passed by the shelf three times before finally giving into the urge of picking up the small glass jar.  As I unscrewed the black lid and inspected one of the small figures, the scent from inside the container reached my nose.  Even the aroma inside the container had a dreamlike sense to it; stale breath escaped past the yellowed lips of cherubs.   Carefully I returned the small putti to his initial position, floating atop the shoulders of his double, tightened the lid and rested the jar in its original place on the shelf.   

The figures were waiting to be released, but not by me.   For now they’re content to remain in their state of suspended animation, amongst mason jars filled with buttons, hooks and strings.

Years from now the shopkeeper will stumble across the empty jar, layered with dust, and wonder just how long it’s been since they decided to leave.