unboxed.

I love antique stores. It's a rare week that I don't go exploring in them. I don't collect antiques. (Scratch that: I do occasionally buy old books.) I'm not typically looking for furniture, or a funky old painting (though I'd love to find one). But I find heaps of inspiration in places full of pieces. Pieces that once belonged to someone else. That fit quite neatly into the puzzle of their lives. Old photographs and postcards always make my heart spin.

Someone loved her.

Someone missed him.

Someone treasured this postcard from Paris.

Someone used this old Valentine as a bookmark.

I like the scuff marks on old furniture. The tea stains and dog-eared corners of stories.

And I like the random knick-nackery, too. Like the box in the picture. I didn't buy the box, but there are two things I liked about it:

The leaves glued to the top were brittle. Like real leaves. They flaked off if you touched them. I know they were probably fake, but it would be cool if they weren't?  What if they were enchanted, magical leaves that blossomed and bloomed across this box for decades? The leaves kept it hidden. The ivy kept it tucked away. The box was buried beneath the leaves of a magical orchard until one curious (...greedy? fearful? brave?) boy came along and sawed the branches away ...

Where was I? The leaves!

Here's the other thing I like: the box was sealed shut. Or at least, it would not open easily. I thought about trying to pry it open. But I figured I would drop it if I did that; I drop everything. And antique stores don't like it when you drop their treasures. So I didn't try very hard to open it. But I wanted to.

And I wanted to pick it up, give it a shake. If I'd listened closely ... what would I have heard inside?

Marbles? Coins? A shuffling sound like cards or paper?

An old man's dream?

A forgotten love song?

A whisper? A warning?

I read an interesting story once, about JJ Abrams and a box. Like the enchanted leaf box, his did not open. I didn't remember how or when got it, but the box has been sealed shut for many years (maybe since he was a kid). He still hasn't opened it. And he says he won't. But he keeps it where he can see it, where he can take it off the shelf and shake it. Because it makes him want to be a better writer; it helps him remember the excitement that comes with surprise. With wonder.

What's in the box, you think?