Collectors call them Crown Jewels of the Wire. Kids call them targets. I love the way sun looks through heavy round glass. How many voices, volts, dots & dashes, passed over these little glass cones and domes? Do they remember, somehow, those vibrations ethereally encoded in the scoops of collet and silica slag and manganese made so long ago, reliquaries slowly purpling in the sun? I found one in the weeds by our railroad line the other day. It's beautiful. I can see why they're collectable. :)
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