light breaks through a tiny mason jar, purchased on impulse, but nestles nicely in the windowsill.
the tinted greens give a lovely glow

these whimsical buys will become too eclectic, bound to become an I-spy books doom. oh, I think they're so neat, my collections of art. yet I rain down on my mother to clean out my old room, filled with squares and circles, shapes of a hoarder. why is it that people like things so much?

© 2015 Kate Volk