9 Esfand 1404
Quatrain 36 of 75
“For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd—"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"”
Reflection · Winter 1404
In winter the Potter works in the cold, and the clay is stiffer, less responsive, requiring more force. The murmur — gently, brother — is at its most plaintive. All obliterated — winter obliterates almost completely. The faces and voices and individual presences that filled the spring and summer are now compressed into the general substance of winter. The tongue is barely there.
But barely is not absent. The gently, brother is still audible if you are quiet enough to hear it. The clay remembers, even in winter, even in the full obliteration of cold and dark. Be gentle with it. You are made of the same thing. You are brothers with everything you touch.