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Post by scriptamanent on Jan 7, 2009 18:39:37 GMT -5
The bigger couch, suitable for taking nice long siestas, is covered with a synthetic blanket bought last year and an old woolen sheet on top.
The second cover - indefinably beige- can’t be better washed, yet it preserves the breath of her life. The halogen heater plays with its persisting tones as it rotates, 180 degrees churning decades thread after thread after thread.
And when its colour is butter yellow, I can see the hands that wove it, young and strong, knowing that this particular tint surfacing, is a mixture of reflections of her red hair, the continual turn of her head to the left then back to the right as she firmly operated the loom, and I sense that wool was not the only thing she had woven into.
(for my late grandmother Evanthia)
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