Found
The Stories We Carry in Fragments
On my desk sits a simple dish. Inside: shells from a shoreline walk, a few river-smoothed stones, and anagram letters that spell a single word — FOUND.
At first glance, it is nothing more than a small collection. Yet when I pause and look more closely, I realize: this dish is a mosaic of my own becoming.
The Fragments We Keep
We all gather fragments as we move through our lives.
Scraps of paper tucked into journals
Half-finished poems, written in a rush of feeling
A postcard, its edges curled, carrying the memory of a moment
Individually, they may seem incomplete. But together, they become small anchors of our story. They remind us of who we have been, what we have survived, what we have loved.
In seasons when our wholeness feels out of reach, the fragments speak softly: you are not undone — you are unfolding.
Meaning in the Gathering
When fragments come together — shells, words, scraps, colors, memories — they reveal hidden coherence. What once felt scattered becomes a constellation.
Maybe this is what art truly is: not the creation of something from nothing, but the tender assembling of what we’ve found along the way. Every journal page, every brushstroke, every object carried home in our pocket is a thread in the larger tapestry of who we are.
What We Choose to Hold
We cannot keep everything. But the pieces we choose to carry — the ones we place in bowls, tuck into books, or return to in memory — begin to map the story of our becoming.
The dish on my desk is no longer just a dish. It has become a small altar of memory. A reminder that the broken, the partial, the unfinished still shine with meaning.
What is found, even in fragments, is enough to guide us home.
Reflection for You:
What fragments are you carrying? A scrap of paper, a line of a song, a stone from a walk — what story might it be whispering back to you?
