The Writer and the Silver Bear
As far as material possession go, I have more than my fair share after 25 years of regular op shopping. As much as I tell myself there is nothing more I need or want, sometimes objects with particular talismanic power will make themselves known to me. It was thus with the silver bear.
The bear was put out for sale outside Reverse Garbage, alongside a box of foam offcuts. It was about a metre high and glittery silver and at first I fought my inclination to inspect it further. But after I had left the store, and was sitting on a bench outside having some lunch, I found my eyes drawn back to the bear. The situation escalated. When a man approached the bear and picked it up, testing its weight, I had a sudden lurch of feeling. The next thing I knew: