No. 003 CALL IT A VASE. Call it a bowl. It’s neither and both. She caught a glimmer of it at one of those rainy weekend estate sales, tucked between a child’s piggy bank and a stack of Family Circle magazines. Closer inspection revealed none of the flecks or fractures that usually brought disappointment. It was a real gem, and a steal at a buck-fifty.

Once, it had graced the side table in the front parlor. A gift from an aunt who came to visit infrequently, apologies in hand. It was the only thing she’d ever brought that found a permanent place — and such a prominent one — in the house. A reminder of the goodness of people between visits.

Measuring about 6 inches in diameter, it is covered in golf ball-like dimples that concentrate light in their centers and spit it back out as candy orange flares. Its ostensibly delicate surface design looks as if it never completely cooled from its fiery birth.

We keep it in our north-facing living room on a low bench where the light from the large bay window can enter it, dance within and exit onto the walls.

We’d love to know where it came from. Who made it. And how. For now, we’re content to speculate.

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