Only a Chain

Time must grow thick and merry with incident,
before thought can begin."
—Mary Oliver

Isn't that so. Memories distilled over time change their appearance. The roles we played alter and slide into a different place.

I recall a gold chain and a unicorn pendant that stayed in my jewelry box more often than around my neck. An artist created this one of a kind pendant—or perhaps this, the first, led to more from the same mold.

Smitten with unicorns, I owned calendars, clay figures, one metal unicorn,pictures, and a needlepoint copy of The Unicorn in Captivity—the original remained in the Cloisters in New York. I don't recall if I purchased the kit at the Cloisters, but I know that I worked on it for months.

The gold chain to the unicorn often disappeared, only to be returned later that day. I usually never noticed it missing unless that happened to be the day I decided to wear the necklace. Then, I became irate— "Just ask," I'd say. I'm not certain what I'd answer.

I still have the gold chain—a thin chain, too short for a turtle neck. The unicorn is gone—along with the clay figurines and the metal unicorn. The needlepoint no longer hangs on the wall.

Why, I wonder, did I place so much emphasis on a simple gold chain? That chain carried too much weight.