But in the main, I feel like a brown bag of miscellany propped against a wall. Against a wall in company with other bags, white, red and yellow. Pour out the contents, and there is discovered a jumble of small things priceless and worthless. A first-water diamond, an empty spool, bits of broken glass, lengths of string, a key to a door long since crumbled away, a rusty knifeblade, old shoes saved for a road that never was and never will be, a nail bent under the weight of things too heavy for any nail, a dried flower or two, still a little fragrant. In your hand is the brown bag. On the ground before you is the jumble it held--so much like the jumble in the bags, could they be emptied, that all might be dumped in a single heap and the bags refilled without altering the content of any greatly. A bit of colored glass more or less would not matter. Perhaps that is how the Great Stuffer of Bags filled them in the first place--who knows? (1928)
This made me wonder...Hmmmm, I am a slightly cracked seashell with a burn mark on the inside, a cassete tape (that won't play due to a juice-related incedent), a piece of driftwood, an arrowhead on a chain, flakes of dried paint, a handful of sage leaves, a silver ring that snapped in two, a few guitar picks, multicolored glass marbles, and some randomn espresso beans floating around in the mix. I'm sure I could go on and on, I found the concept interesting. Any other bags that want to reveal their contents?