Page 58 of The Summer We Mended
“Pottery,” she said, her voice warm and animated, “isn’t just about making bowls or vases.It’s about listening.To yourself.To the clay.It tells you what it wants to be.And when you make something with your hands, you leave a little bit of yourself behind in it.That’s the magic.”
The kids were captivated.Even the ones who looked like they might have had too much sugar at breakfast sat quietly, their attention fixed on her.She bent down to the table and picked up a lump of clay, demonstrating how to roll it into a smooth ball.
Anna felt something catch in her chest.
Her mother looked radiant.
Not in the way of magazine covers or movie stars, but in that deeper, undeniable way that people do when they are living fully in a moment they love.She spoke to the kids like equals, never talking down to them; her language was simple and rich with care.Her hands moved with confidence.
Anna moved closer to the circle, drawn in like everyone else.She crouched beside Nora, who was pressing her palms into a slab of clay.
“That’s good,” Anna said with a smile.“You’ve got strong hands.”
Nora beamed.“Max helped.We played fetch all morning.I think I’m stronger now.”
Anna laughed.“I bet.”
Blaze, sitting nearby, held up his attempt at a coil pot.“Is this right?”
Lily knelt beside him, inspecting his work.“It’s wonderful,” she said gently.“And you can smooth it with a little water, like this.”She demonstrated, her voice calm and encouraging.
Anna watched as Tom helped a boy about five untangle his apron strings.He knelt and tied it for him, patient and smiling, then sent the boy back to his seat with a gentle pat on the shoulder.Anna smiled as she watched the encounter.Tom was a natural.
The laughter of children filled the space, blending with the quiet scrapes and squishes of clay being molded.Time slowed down in that way it sometimes does when something good is happening.Anna felt a lightness in her chest she hadn’t realized she was missing.
Later, as the kids started finishing up their projects, Lily helped them line their creations on drying shelves by the window.The light caught each one, imperfect and beautiful.Clay turtles, wobbly bowls, strange animal hybrids with too many legs.
“We’ll fire these in the kiln,” Lily explained.“Then you can paint them next week if you want to come back.”
The kids cheered at the idea.
Anna turned to Tom.“You coming back, too?”
He grinned.“Only if I get to keep making lopsided mugs.I think it might be my calling.”
Anna chuckled, shaking her head.She was surprised by how easily he fit in, how his presence didn’t feel like an intrusion.
As the parents began arriving to pick up their kids, the studio buzzed with gratitude and clay-covered hands holding up misshapen masterpieces.Lily hugged a few of the kids she knew, promised to send updates on the firing process, and accepted a thank-you muffin from one mom who swore it was banana-chocolate and completely life-changing.
Anna stayed back, wiping down tables, her hands stained with flecks of dry clay.Lily joined her after a bit, standing beside her with a deep breath and a warm, tired smile.
“You were amazing,” Anna said softly.
Lily looked over, her expression tender.“Thank you.It felt good.”
Anna paused, then added, “You looked happy.”
Lily smiled again, this time with a hint of wonder.“I am.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the studio around them now quiet and sun-drenched, every surface dusted with the remnants of creativity.It was a sacred kind of mess.
Tom stepped in with a tray of empty water cups.“Well,” he said, “if I wasn’t a believer before, I definitely am now.Pottery is magic.”
Lily laughed.“It kind of is, isn’t it?”
Anna watched the two of them, and the odd pang she’d felt earlier softened.Maybe this was okay.Maybe it was better than okay.Her mother was radiant and starting to find her way back to something like joy.
As they packed up the last of the supplies, sunlight pouring in through the windows and laughter still echoing in Anna’s ears, she thought about how sometimes, the most beautiful things came from being willing to get your hands dirty.
