The Vase

     It was beautiful and seemed to call me from the display window across the street. I hesitated, but the pull of curiosity got the better of me.
     I walked across the cobblestone street to get a closer look at the vase that had captured my desire.  There was nothing special about it, just a tiny silver vase with a design etched to tarnished to recognize.
     It was right, I did desire it.  Digging through my handbag for loose change that jingled around in the bottom.  I counted three dollars and seventy-five cents.  I hoped it was enough.
     Slowly I turned the door knob to the second-hand shop.  Holding my head up high, I assured myself it would be enough.  Confidently I entered the shop.
     Inside all was quiet not a creepy quiet, a calm welcoming kind of quiet that seemed to enfold me as I walked across the wooden floor.  “Hello?”  I called out softly.
     “Yes? came a tiny reply from a curtain.  Oh, you made it!  Have you been waiting long?”  The voice continued.
     Confused I asked.  “Were you expecting me?  I was across the street and noticed the tiny silver vase in the window.”
     “Yes, it may not look like much but to the right person it could become a cherished treasure.”  The voice replied.
     “How much?”  I asked
     “Three dollars and seventy-five cents”  Replied a tiny old woman as she carefully removed the vase from its spot in the window.
     I am still unclear what happened next when I found myself once again on the other side of the street.  Shaking my head in confusion I continued on my way to my destination.  I was looking for a stone cottage believed to have housed my Great Grandmother in her youth.  I was hoping to get a recent photo to add to our family history I was working on to pass on to my children.
     The locals pointed me north just outside of town when I showed them my Great Grandmothers photo.  “You can’t miss it they all said a place like that will be around forever.”
     It was smaller than I had imagined.  The description that was written long ago in my Great Grandmothers hand had also included a photo she sent to my Great Grandfather and describing in detail the little cottage that was now before me.
     Pulling out my Great Grandmothers photo again to confirm, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.  Cradled gently in her hands was a tiny silver vase…not just any vase, the same vase I had just purchased for three dollars and seventy-five cents.
     The stories of my Great Grandmother being a Gypsy, I had never doubted. But Magic?  I was quickly becoming a believer.
   Before returning home to the States, I had a local take my picture in front of the cottage and I was holding the tiny silver vase.

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