There has been much work on the access road to Motovun the last few months. Under its surface, there are new water supply and sewage pipes. The road itself has been repaired and recovered with asphalt. Here and there, the pavement along the road is yet to be finished. The rusty reinforcing mesh is already in place, and the concrete will be poured over it any day now. Having escorted my beloved to her car that was parked along the access road, and having waved her goodbye, I noticed that reinforcing bar or rebar snippets remained on the ground after the mesh was trimmed to fit the uneven pavement. Patterned to better bond with the concrete, the refuse attracted my attention, as well as my compassion. And so I started collecting it. By the time I reached the cemetery, I had a sizable collection of snippets, which I kept showing to everyone I met on my way. As I write, the rusty rebar refuse is staring at me from the dining room table. Made of unfinished tempered steel, it is utterly useless. Whence the attraction and compassion behind my unsuspected collection, no doubt. Residua par excellence, as it were.

Addendum (July 21, 2015)

I arranged the rebar snippets in a white porcelain bowl, and showed them to my beloved when she returned to Motovun. She was quite attracted by the arrangement I had made with consummate care. A few days after her return, though, I decided to get rid of my collection. Throwing the rusty rebar refuse into the garbage was out of the question, and so I flung it into the woods under my garden with my sling. As my beloved was watching me, I let the snippets go one by one from the terrace. “Only imagine the consternation of those who find them one fine day,” I mused. “It may well happen a couple of thousand years from today.” My beloved just chuckled. She has little hope for any of my residua, no matter how cute.