Twenty two

Seeing beauty in a storm, you sketch, braid and crochet for two enduring years you throw out a life-affirming net, it’s a road map of your arteries, blood cells with appointment to keep, heart to maintain beating and lungs to carry on breathing, and argh, seven kidney stones in varying sizes. You started from a zero without knowing where or when to stop, an odyssey in a jungle with twists and turns you lost your way tangled up in chaotic deep roots and finally, closing in a circle. An inner and outer circle, smooth, non-transparent, milk-white as dove, maroon as full-bodied reds, fragile, tender as love; one must touch with delicate care. Once upon a time you claimed the egg has perfect shape, but clinging to imagination you preferred to hatch the imperfect, varnishing them with charming colours calling them magenta green, white, pink and lavender. A savvy gatherer of the unwanted, there is always magic from one banal, wasted material to another, hence from the used plastic bottles arise four genies, in a snap you recognize them as Charlotte, Emily, Lily and Helena - the four sisters, your uncle’s daughters; shards of memory weaving into characters you knew long time ago. You pour your life into art, ages like the fine wine we are sipping, now now, another glass.
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