The Gift

It was a small box. Hand painted. Gathering dust on a shelf in a small, shabby shop on a hillstation.

An unremarkable box, too small to hold much. Painted in hues of the bluest blue and some beige. Swirls of a golden leaf encircled the circumference and a swish of blue petals.

It was indeed a small box and something that would go unnoticed when looking for a handicraft to buy. Something you might just glance at and then shushh away in your mind's eye, rejecting it's potential to be bought for any reason. Move on. Next item please!

But when you are given this tiny thing by someone with perhaps a little something else coiled tidily inside, it begins to take on a whole new meaning.

For a gift is a gift no matter how small or tiny. It is the 'reason' that makes a difference and all of a sudden you feel special, flattered. Like you matter on this planet and that perhaps all is not a lost cause.

You unpack the little box and finger it, enthralled by the gentle bumps of paint as they spell out the painted vines. Bring it up close to your eyes for a better look, admire the sheer labor spent on creating the object of beauty.

Open the box, peer inside. Take out the little something and look in again. It is empty now of course yet you continue staring at the blue inside. Feel it with your finger, trace it with your thumb.

You look at it for a while, smile, and then gently place it back into it's wrapping. You are gentle with it to prevent the smallest abrasion on it's surface. Perhaps it sounds stupid but you save the wrapping as well.

For the sheer goodwill it was given to you with is heart-wrenching.

In that small box is stored a wealth of music and other things melodious, words, poetry, smiles and perhaps a touch of resentment, some stories and webbings. Lots of memories. The expression when it was handed to you.

A gift is the way to make someone feel special.

And that to me is purely beautiful.