A Hidden Treasure

Years are piled in slouching display. Dust bobbles on a sunlit window, yet the small ragtag shop is dingy, without and within. Its second hand put downs, left to clutter; emblematic of one life with another. There are other items, trinkets and baubles, fleetingly made attractive, in the glint of a few golden rays. I see the ivory handle of an umbrella, its shaft and canopy half-hidden beneath a jumble of garments. Could it be that its grasp is old genuine ivory? I see a slight surface crack on the u-shaped hilt. Yes, not a faux simulation, almost definitely elephant tusk. Shall I go in, buy this half-buried treasure for a paltry amount, or should I walk away, ecological principles intact? Today, in the hallway it is leaning against a small table. It is raining. yet I hesitate to be seen with it. "My precious," I mutter to myself.