A Fresh Start

 
Every couple of months the pad of clay [to which I stick wooden bats on the wheel] dries out and/or gets uneven:the last one had a good run for its money,but finally gave out.A fresh pad- full of promise and potential,its significance somewhat like Leonidas combing his hair in the poem they made us learn at school.It's been a while since I sat down to some protracted throwing:as it happens,I have no clay at the moment [stoneware promised this week] and we're in the middle of a powercut.Still.