Weaving with Secrets

They share an intimate moment, the two of them, with the discussion of a secret. It will be honored; treasured as a token. The passing of it ensures a bond, a permanency of friendship between them. Something flutters in the humid air above. They think it is love. Admiration certainly. Not romantic love but something larger that is reflected between the two. They recognize one another in it. It is rare and beautiful. It glows like an orb.

There they sit, trading stories, while one works on his ancient craft. The other watches and tries to learn from him. His hands and fingers hold the memory of what should be. His fingers search for the rhythm and he knows what is right by what is wrong.

His hands find the pattern eventually. With this comes delight. The knowledge, imprinted there from childhood, hasn't ever left. Once it has been excavated, he can't stop. He weaves and begins another, strips more palm leaves. He creates again and again until his fingers are sure of the rhythm. He remembers from watching his Mother. His eyes fill with tears as he thinks of this long ago time. It feels in his body just like yesterday.

The two of them sit and weave together. The colours are this: vibrant green, bright blue - pink, polished brown, pale pink - brown flesh. Between the two figures, a merging of soft apricot and the palest, most delicate pink.

Luminosity ignites the whole composition.

Emily