I’m taking part in Word-High’s 30 Beautiful Filipino Words. This a blended piece combining both the Daily Prompt with Word High July. Today’s word is Likha which means to design or make with intelligence and skill. Want to join? Checkout the link at the bottom.:)

He’d been sitting on that stupid, old, stool for what seemed like hours. He’d long since grown restless and decided to come closer for a closer look.

He sensed the boy’s restlessness. He smiled to himself as he thought of his own grandfather who’d first shown him how to mold the clay in his hands. How to envision what it was he wanted to create and slowly allow it to take shape in his hands. Or how hold his hands at the sides of the clay, spinning the wheel, allowing the clay to show the potter what it could be.

He’d zoned out. The clay had collapsed. The boy moaned in agony. The destroyed- whatever it was- would cost him even more playing time. Grandpa had mandated everyday they would spend time in his pottery shop.

He watched as the old man set back to work. Working his hands around, up, then down, and watched as a tall shapely vase appeared. Wide and curvy at the bottom and tapering up into a slender neck with a slightly wider mouth.

He watched as his grandfather seemed lost in the piece and was amazed when it was done. Turning to look at the wooden window framed he gasped. The sun, had begun it’s rapid descent in the time that they’d been working.

Turning to his grandfather he asked him why he spent so much time cooped up in this stuffy shop, when he could be outside. He could working around the cabin, sitting with grandma in the other wicker chair, or fishing down by the Old Winding Creaky Creek. His grandfather looked at him and a slow smile inched across his handsome, line chiseled, face.

“When I met your grandmother.. I was still a shy man. Always nervous around beautiful women and well, you’ve seen your Grandma.” He said with a wink.

“The first date we ever went on was to one of the local art exhibitions. I had created a few pieces and they were OK. But there was one I was very proud of. I made it while thinking of her. I used a clay the color of russet brown, almost like the deepest brown of autumn leaves- nearly the same color as her hair. It took me a whole day to make the piece but when it was down I knew. I swore if she recognized herself in it, I’d marry her. It was the first and only piece she bought at the fair. We were married four months later.” He chuckled, “Couldn’t get the pastor to do it any sooner than that. You see son. Some find sanctuary in fishing, the outdoors, in the arts, in music. I find it in pottery. It takes me back to that shy young man still searching for something. Every time I pick up a piece of clay, I’m reminded of that.”

He looked down at his grandson rapt in deep thought. The minutes slowly ticked away. With twinkling eyes his grandson looked up, “Will you teach me how to get girls with pottery?” With enthusiastic laughter he snatched up the boy ignoring the boy’s gripes about being touched with dirty hands and held him close. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree huh? Come, let’s get cleaned up for dinner. We start bright and early in the morning.”

Tucking the boy under his arm he marched out towards the house.



Word High July