put my things. I liked seeing her here. At the store, she was capable because the work required it; in the studio, she seemed at ease in a way that belonged entirely to her.
She showed me a small dish she had glazed the previous week.
The blue had pooled darker near one edge.
“It wasn’t exactly what I intended,” she said.
“Do you like it?”
She considered the piece.
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps the dish had a useful opinion.”
Her smile warmed.
We sat at neighboring wheels while the instructor
