There are four carvings on my shelf,
an adult quail,
a baby quail,
a duck,
and a pelican.
I see by the stickers at their bases
that they were hand-made in Mexico.
A few small blocks of wood,
carefully carved by an experienced hand,
sold, I imagine, in a Mexican street market,
packed into a suitcase
and flown thousands of miles north,
loved by someone over the years,
then discarded into a ‘free to good home’ bin,
carefully recovered by a mother,
passed to her son.
I fold my arms,
rest them on the shelf,
gaze at these small wonders.
They bring me joy, after all.
And isn’t that the goal of the craftsman?
Not only to put food on the table,
but also to delight,
to please the senses,
to add a little bit of joy to the world?