The kitchen knives were a good find in a drawer of the back shed today, every bit as good as Rilke’s old mirrors that had reflected those who had journeyed onward. How often they were chosen for the table, even after a series of upgradings. Forged Sheffield steel—there was no need to check. The other somehow fits in the group, the memory of its wielding, its added use for peeling, clearly retained. The grasp of the handle was different for spoon & fork. (The wearing of the right was from the flame of the stove, not the hand. A cook pot most likely.) Painters could reproduce something of the feeling of like objects in their work.
The preparation for the selling of the old place proceeds slowly.
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