What "Traditional Knife" are ya totin' today?

My carry knife changed when the mailman came today. This gift came in the mail today.


[url=https://www.flickr.com/gp/26345736@N04/0r206n2Ntd]2025 Case Barlow by Bill Friggle Photography, on Flickr
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[/url]2025 Case Barlow by Bill Friggle Photography, on Flickr
2025 Case Barlow by Bill Friggle Photography, on Flickr
 
Morning sun filtered through the window, catching the rim and handle of the handmade mug as I reached for it. The last sip of coffee had gone lukewarm, and that was fine. This wasn’t really about drinking it. It was more of a ritual ... a moment of stillness before the day pushed in with fierce glory and jubilant noise. My hand rested around the curve of the mug just as it had a thousand times before, knuckles a little stiffer than last year, skin a little more folded by time. The mug was cool against my fingers, its glaze a quiet storm frozen in motion.

Beside the mug, the Buck 110 LT lay folded, exactly where it belonged. Not posed, not placed with intention, it had just ended up there the way familiar tools do. Black handle, blade tucked, but always ready. It wasn’t threatening, just present. Watching. Waiting. Willing.

I didn’t remember using the knife that morning, but somehow I felt as though it had already done something important. Something ordinary, but necessary. Something small. Or not so small. The thought drifted in uninvited and stayed, marking an unsorted memory.


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