Somewhere in the year 2089 A dusty, wooden table, painted a vibrant red, stands alone in a vacant ole' farmhouse kitchen. Nearby is a window sporting many panes of broken glass, allowing vivid sunlight to filter throughout this rotting structure. A large jar adorns this wobbly legged piece of furniture. A brown wilted vine drapes itself over the edge, meeting a dry, splintered wooden floor, covered of mud, dead grass and murky colored yellow weeds. As I canvass this grim place, a vision of sunniness glinting from old glasswork fills my mind of what this room may have once contained. Light, airy happy memories of a mother's home baked cookies for her children, holidays and family gatherings. Indeed, an empty pickle jar filled with lustrous sunshine can put a smile within one's heart.