The potter’s house
In a charming, sun-kissed village perched atop a hill in Appollonia, there stood a humble potter's house. This pottery store held a special allure, drawing visitors from far and wide across ancient Greece. Its owner, the renowned Alexander, was known for crafting and selling hundreds of exquisite pottery items each year. However, in the past year, the winds of change had begun to blow through the quaint village.
The influenza outbreak had disrupted the livelihood of merchants who relied on trade along the Silk Road, and the potter's business started to feel the effects of this downturn. The warm, welcoming sun cast a gentle glow upon the modest entryway, where Alexander, with a hint of determination, turned the open sign around, signifying the end of another day.
"We'll be all right, you know. You're doing your absolute best," reassured Alexandria, the potter's loving wife. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, radiating a sense of warmth and support.
In the cozy back kitchen, two cups filled with steaming tea sat patiently beside a stack of unwashed utensils. "I know, and I appreciate your unwavering support," Alexander replied, offering his wife a cup of tea. The cool breeze rustled the back door, and their cat, Argos, purred contentedly as he rushed inside, narrowly avoiding the door's swing.
"Do you think we'll have enough for the winter?" Alexandria inquired; her eyes filled with concern. Winters in Appollonia were known to be unforgiving, with the need for ample firewood growing as the nights grew longer.
"You do ask a lot of questions, my love," Alexander chuckled softly. "But I promise, I'll continue to do my best."
Alexander took a soothing sip of his tea, and a stool placed near the sturdy workbench seemed just a bit too far to reach. "The cold of winter won't be kind to your leg either," Alexandria remarked with empathy. Years of tireless labour had taken their toll, and yet, the potter remained resolute in his decision not to hire an apprentice. He worked diligently to please each one of his cherished customers, valuing their satisfaction above all else.
Kneeling to position the stool, Alexandria's elegant purple satin robe graced the sandy ground. "Thank you, my dear," Alexander whispered his gratitude as she gently lifted his left foot onto the stool.
"There's one vase," the potter mused, and Alexandria, her glossy brown hair cascading like a waterfall, interlaced the chiffon scarf around her neck. "If we sold it, we wouldn't need to sell another piece this year," he continued.
"The amphora vase," she suggested with a knowing smile. "Yes, dear," Alexander confirmed, his eyes filled with a sense of hope.
As the beaded curtain swayed gently in the soothing evening breeze behind the counter, Alexander's gaze drifted towards the captivating navy and orange hues that adorned the night sky. An oil lamp cast a warm and inviting glow upon the room, and the potter cherished these simple moments. His beautiful wife diligently attended to the utensils in the basin. Together, they fondly reminisced about the day's activities until the last of the basin's contents were tidily put away.
They slowly strolled a short distance to their welcoming home, guided by the soft glow of the oil lamp.
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