Findlings

I said the other day that I keep finding things. Usually, it's small things; the most recent ones were pens, a toy horse as big as my little finger, a smiley-faced yo-yo, coins, children's hair clips, and the like. Once I found a stuffed toy rattle squoshed in a puddle, took it home, gave it a warm bath, good as new, it sits on my shelf opposite the desk and I smile every time I look at it.
Snail shells, feathers, a paper heart, a small British flag. Broken pottery, pieces of clay pipes and big old nails from the Thames. Curious stones, stones with holes in them, stones from the beaches I visit, whether it be in Spain or in Scotland. I don't hesitate to bend down and pick things up when they look interesting. Part of my way to work leads over a parking lot which every Sunday hosts a car boot sale, and things get dropped or left. I have an old cookie tin where I keep these things, though the most recent ones reside in a glass bowl on my windowsill.
I keep finding things. But never yet have I found an abandoned piece of furniture, until today, while I was walking home in the rain. I now have a small wood and canvas storage unit. As far as I can see it's part of a wardrobe set from Argos, and the canvas drawer is missing, even though the canvas cover is there and currently being washed while the wood dries in the bathtub. I don't mind that the drawer is missing, I'm sure I can find something to replace it.