Friday, September 13, 2013

By The Master's Hand


For over half a century, Shmuel Apfelbaum had been one of the finest diamond cutters the Hasidic community had ever known. While steady and certain hands were a necessary requirement of the cutter’s art, it had always been his discerning eye for the most intricate work that had distinguished him as an unquestioned master of the art. Now, alas, time and physical frailty had combined to ensure he would never craft another masterpiece.

But as he stood in the field outside his home, his failing eyes saw, for the first time it seemed, how foolish an old man he truly had become. There arrayed before him was a kaleidoscopic panorama of beauty his hands could never, in fifty or fifty thousand years, have crafted the like of in the simple wildflowers wrought by the hand of a true Master.


This story was written for the weekly Five Sentence Fiction flash fiction prompt: flowers. 

5 comments:

  1. Amen! Beautiful sentiment, expressed masterfully.

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  2. Beautiful. I would say he'd been a foolish young man, and was losing his foolishness with age.

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  3. A clever perspective to show how we can truly become 'sucked in' by a sense of out own self-importance. It's never to lat to learn.

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  4. good write; have a nice Sunday

    much love...

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  5. With age comes wisdom. Good story.

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