A Dying Art

The glass-blower in Murano performed his art in a nonchalant manner.  Some of us watched him in fascination but most matched his mood.  It wasn’t quite boredom, but more like a hurry-and-get-to-the-point angst that filled the air.  The dusty location and uncomfortable benches contributed to the olive aura.  Polite tourists discreetly tapped toes.  Until the perfect form of a horse on its hind legs materialized before us.  A flurry of oohs and aahs filled the cavernous location.  Claps ensued and suddenly the drab lifted.  The lit furnace activated everyone’s curiosity.  What else could be shaped out of sand and heat?

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