Sunday 22 September 2013

Mountain (for Isabel)

The last time she saw her, she was wearing her dirty old ballerina shoes, the hippie skirt and a sad smile. There was something growing inside, she said, and it was not a child. She had just finished drawing one million lines. She counted them one by one. It took a thousand days to complete.

In her world everything was measured, weighed, thought. She dwelled in clarity and purpose.



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