Clay Between Our Hands

The clay felt cool at first, then softened as I worked it between my palms. Around the table, neighbors were learning the same lesson: pushing harder did not always help. Our instructor encouraged us to leave a few fingerprints behind. I made a small bowl with an uneven rim, while the person beside me formed a cup for a grandchild. We traded tools and laughed when a handle refused to stay attached. Weeks later, I collected my finished bowl. Its teal glaze pooled along the bottom like a river. Each time I used it, I remembered the room and the people who had helped me begin. This is fictional demo content, not a verified Lane Arts Council workshop or historical event. Images are AI-generated illustrations.