Bamboo Blades

It is useful to have. Every few minutes someone is asking for a blade, or something to puncture the boxes. The edge slits through the plastic tape smoother than a hot knife in cold butter. One fell swoop and the contents spill out.

Of course other blades sit on the shelf in the box. The small, thin box is labeled such. Thick black marker scrolled 'blades' contrasts the white container. Inside the blades shine, a few have dull or rust-spotted edges. 

In her hand is a shiny new blade. She just removed the paper from it before taking it in her hand. Thus far, it has opened about a dozen packages. They were all typical. The packing labels were accurate and everything was packaged so neat. 

Her fist wraps around the metal blade. The metal is temperate; it's probably adjusted to her body heat. She's been carrying it around for some time now. She can't seem to put it down. The metal settles her mind but turns her heart restless.

Deep breaths in and out slow her pulse. Reflections carry her forward. She can feel the corners of the blade in her palm; it is just enough to know it is still there. 

The grip around the blade similar to one around a shoot of bamboo is firm but not tight. She holds on to the blade for security, strength, and symbolism. Her mind drifts back to a time when these seemed so vacant. The time when pins pricked, blades were sharp, and the bamboo groves empty.

Bamboo is a symbol of longevity, protection, and strength in its native lands. It is held in high regards through myths and legends, use and growth. Forests of it surround shrines, and often it is harvested for construction and medication. Folklore sprinkles mystical powers onto the plant that include: healing, famine prediction, and protection.

And, in this moment, she finds her groves are plentiful, her blades strengthening, and her pins are holding things together.