What "Traditional Knife" are ya totin' today?

[ferider]

Morning.

 

[Amir Fleschwund]

This is the porch, so the spyderco stays closed.

You got the first part right.
You made up the second part.

No offense, Vin, but we all have those. We just don't put them here.

 

[SCFlyGuy]

On the quiet side of midnight, a lamp glowed over the computer desk, casting a warm circle of light across three familiar objects. The Boker Barlow rested on its spine, its copper bolsters catching the glow like banked embers. Beside it lay a Cross pen, straight and elegant, waiting for words. Behind them, the small Dicodes box mod stood upright, its steel top tank shining like a lighthouse on a dark headland.

Elias sat staring at the trio as if they were actors on a stage. He had carried each of them through different chapters of his life, yet tonight they seemed to lean toward one another as if conspiring. The pocket knife reminded him of a lesson that every tool should be sharp every day. The pen had been a high school graduation gift from his grandparents, and across the decades he had written lists, notes, and reminders with equal ease and grace. The mod he had bought during the dimmest part of a winter when he needed something to focus his hands and help change his habits.

A strange thought passed through him then. If these things could speak, what might they say at this moment. The knife might say that a blade left unused still desires purpose. The pen might whisper that blank pages are never as empty as the silence that precedes them. And the mod, pulsing softly with the memory of warm vapor, might hint that even in fog a person can find a way forward by taking one calm breath at a time.

Elias closed his eyes. The house settled around him with the small nocturnal groans of old lumber. When he opened them again, the three objects seemed slightly closer together, though he knew they had not moved.

Perhaps, he thought, some nights are meant only for quiet reminders. That a man is shaped not by grand events but by the small things he chooses to carry and the stories they are still waiting to help him write.

Then he turned off the lamp, and the little circle of light folded into darkness, leaving the three companions to keep their silent vigil.

Pausing there in the darkness and quiet stillness that lingered. Elias wondered whether he had just held counsel with the objects on his desk or merely drifted into the kind of philosophical mood that appears when a man is up far later than he meant to be. Had the objects offered him their wisdom or was he simply very tired and assigning personalities to desk clutter again. He sat there a little longer, realizing that if the three companions truly had been whispering advice, they were now politely refusing to repeat themselves, as wise friends often do. And with that, Elias stood to conclude his thoughts and imaginings and find his rest.

Great read … I for one have missed the stories from B BrotherJim !!

 

[Viin2]

You got the first part right.
You made up the second part.

No offense, Vin, but we all have those. We just don't put them here.

I just keep it closed to let the slip shine

 

[DaleS]

On the quiet side of midnight, a lamp glowed over the computer desk, casting a warm circle of light across three familiar objects. The Boker Barlow rested on its spine, its copper bolsters catching the glow like banked embers. Beside it lay a Cross pen, straight and elegant, waiting for words. Behind them, the small Dicodes box mod stood upright, its steel top tank shining like a lighthouse on a dark headland.

Elias sat staring at the trio as if they were actors on a stage. He had carried each of them through different chapters of his life, yet tonight they seemed to lean toward one another as if conspiring. The pocket knife reminded him of a lesson that every tool should be sharp every day. The pen had been a high school graduation gift from his grandparents, and across the decades he had written lists, notes, and reminders with equal ease and grace. The mod he had bought during the dimmest part of a winter when he needed something to focus his hands and help change his habits.

A strange thought passed through him then. If these things could speak, what might they say at this moment. The knife might say that a blade left unused still desires purpose. The pen might whisper that blank pages are never as empty as the silence that precedes them. And the mod, pulsing softly with the memory of warm vapor, might hint that even in fog a person can find a way forward by taking one calm breath at a time.

Elias closed his eyes. The house settled around him with the small nocturnal groans of old lumber. When he opened them again, the three objects seemed slightly closer together, though he knew they had not moved.

Perhaps, he thought, some nights are meant only for quiet reminders. That a man is shaped not by grand events but by the small things he chooses to carry and the stories they are still waiting to help him write.

Then he turned off the lamp, and the little circle of light folded into darkness, leaving the three companions to keep their silent vigil.

Pausing there in the darkness and quiet stillness that lingered. Elias wondered whether he had just held counsel with the objects on his desk or merely drifted into the kind of philosophical mood that appears when a man is up far later than he meant to be. Had the objects offered him their wisdom or was he simply very tired and assigning personalities to desk clutter again. He sat there a little longer, realizing that if the three companions truly had been whispering advice, they were now politely refusing to repeat themselves, as wise friends often do. And with that, Elias stood to conclude his thoughts and imaginings and find his rest.

Fantastic, I always enjoy your musings Jim!

 

[5K Qs]

Stag/Horn Knife of the Week is a stag folder my daughter got for me in the shop of cutler Mariano Zamarano in Toledo, Spain (but it's really a Salamandra model 10012 with Zamarano's blade etch):

Work Knife of the Week is a Colonial electrician:

- GT