Consider the mug on the counter. It was bought in a moment of hope. It says something funny about Mondays. It has not been washed since the spring. The mug has no future. It has only the edge.
We approach the mug with respect. We circle it, once, twice, three times. We study the handle. Then, with a motion as light as a thought, we move it toward the open air.
The sound that follows is not a crash. It is a release. It is the sound of an object finally becoming what it was always meant to be, which is a collection of smaller objects, each less burdensome than the whole.
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