“Good Morning” I say to the beautiful old things.

As I look them over.

Run my hand across tapestry and marble.

Sleek glass and rough hewn wood.

Feel the past seep through my fingertips, read their history in Braile; each crack and scratch and glued -back- together- part a story worth learning.

“Good Morning” I say again aware that some will have moved on and won’t be with me at the end of the day….