Oh to be a hoover, all whizzing around, sucking up the bits that don’t belong.
The broom sat silently in the corner, where it has always been. For centuries, it was mended, amended, adored. The smooth wood of the handle as become one with the hands of its owner. A utility, for sure. But one with a close relationship. A thing that belongs to the household, surviving trends and mops and all those other items that in the end, don’t surpass the primacy of the broom.
But with the electric outlet, mockingly close to the broom’s corner, came the hoover. A noisy and obnoxious thing of technological advance. Sucking and sucking on end, as long as the power was there. A seemingly penultimate solution to all things unwanted. The broom has become antique.
The broom’s bristles were ashamed. For many years they have not only found a relationship with the handler, but with the dust as well. For you see, dust is inevitable. It will come back, it is even there when you don’t think it is. It is one of those things humans are too arrogant to understand. Trying to make the dirty world sparkling clean. It isn’t. Filth, mold, decay. The broom knows.
Back in the early days, the broom made a very simple yet powerful treaty with dust. As long as it was moving in its way, it could be allowed back. There is no point in fighting the dust, it’s overwhelming. But moving it, working with it, making it move, that is possible.
The hoover continues to fight numbingly against all odds, it has no agenda. It just sucks. And humans, entertained by power and all things seemingly posing an easy solution, just follow along.
So my dear friends, will you broom or hoover?
Will you negotiate with dust? With the things unwanted? Will you dance the dance of ying and yang?
I wish I was a broom. With an army of bristles and all.