Found at a Garage Sale

The pink stars peaked through the tree, like grains of sand sending love to the earth. Like a worm in a compost bin, she dug through the box of bibelots finding all sorts of clues as to the identity of the mysterious visitor. She could tell it was a woman. Recipes for casseroles, cherries jubilee, the genetic code for an old fashioned dinner. Post-it notes stuck on crayons with leads to unseen drawings "use for background only." Notes of trips untaken, of babies names unborn, ballgame scores and snippets of cloth and blond braids. No locket for this hair. No bible to press flowers. No books. Odd.

Dirt ground into her knees. What a place to stop and look in a box. But the sound of the babbling brook, like the distant sound of boys at play, kept her light and bubbly. The tips of spring bulbs glowed in the moonlight, reminding her that technology does not rule all. No spell checker for daffodils, eh? How could you bookmark the scent of the cherry trees. What are the genetics of memory? And bliss? Still she rummaged.

A doll's cradle was crying out for a new coat of paint. A broken AOL CD ROM (why save that, she wondered? Why save anything?) She looked up at Orion, but he had not answers. Silent as a Powerbook without a battery. Trade show name tags, community meeting notices, work to-do lists and a reminder to add to her SEP. But she did not need to worry about Y2K. No need for software in the next world. Her babies never lived on to worry. Nothing to crash. Chocolate wrappers and a broken lock. Someone was in this box before me, she thought.

A slug started up the side of the box, leaving a glistening ribbon. Would it ever have an education if it could climb in and read!

She stopped herself. Tying back up the box, she said, "Fook it"! I'll give this to Tzales. She might be able to figure it out.