On my deck sits an old terra cotta pot that once belonged to my grandfather.
I planted a Geranium in it last spring that stood the test of winter and came back healthy and strong.
In the afternoons, when the sun has dropped behind the trees,
I sit outside and enjoy the beauty contained in this old pot.
How many plants has it nourished since the day it left the fire?
How much beauty do we miss because it comes to us clothed in simplicity?