A kiln of small mercies.
My treads breathe; my saggers remember a push.
The footfalls I keep
Your first firing · room for four rubbings
Step ↑↓←→ or WASDRest SpaceKeep EnterUnmake a footfall ZUnmake a firing BackspaceAsk me ?
Come closer. There is still a little warmth.
The valley took their houses.
I kept their unfinished goodbyes.
Three chambers. Thirty-six footfalls per firing.
Take your rest. I move only when you do.
My treads breathe; my saggers remember a push.
Your first firing · room for four rubbings
The third bird has found its voice.
You set the three birds on my sill. One sings a name. One asks forgiveness. The smallest says, simply, home.
Below us, their voices carry over the reservoir. You cannot bring the valley back. But you have let it finish speaking.
You leave my door open to the morning.
For the first time in years, I remember nothing.
Thank you, potter.