Sarah Saunders Ceramics and a little made-up story

Both pieces are original art by Sarah Saunders Ceramics.

One of the many delightful Facebook discoveries of artists who would likely not have been found any other way.  Should you wish to know a bit more about Sarah Saunders, here is another link.  Her figures tell me stories, just the way that bird seems to be sharing a nuzzle or whispered secret with the bemused woman wearing the emphatic heart pin.

A Small Fiction


Gloria's unique qualities were well known, not often mentioned.  There were rumors that there had once been a Mister Gloria, a fisherman by calling, who had long ago worn out his welcome and her affection.  They say that his last day in her home and life concluded when she swung at him with a large flounder, an unmistakable gesture of dismissal.  Everyone in town who knew him agreed, he had it coming.

The fish event, as locals called it, was never repeated as far as anyone knew, yet it left Gloria eyed with warily when anyone began to act up in her presence.  They rarely did.

In the rough-and-tumble seaside village where she grew up and still lived, Gloria stood apart from her fellows in ever so many ways, most noticeably her success at running a tea shoppe of uncommon refinement and loveliness.  Even to those whose worlds were broader than the narrow, rocky strip that comprised Billington's Cove, it was obvious that Gloria might be considered quite a catch among the local hard-working, outdoor types.  She would have none of it.  She never raised her voice, which was especially melodic - an obvious part of her many charms - and did not openly, irrevocably turn away any of the smitten multitudes.  She simply occupied her own realm of tea cozies, rare chintz-patterned china cups and saucers, flakey and butter-filled pastry, hungry tourists and townsfolk with what might be called no-nonsense grace.  There was no room on the clock or calendar for any silly mooning and swooning.

All that was before Mr. Apotienne began to read Noel Coward to her as she puttered and he sipped, there in the cottage dotted with climbing roses - they grow so well by the sea - the atmosphere seasoned with fragrant lemons for the tarts and an occasional whiff from the fishing fleet.