The long legs of the table, curved gently, elegant and still, like legs of an antelope in the long grass, her head raised high - remembering some long forgotten question. The heavy, immobile worn out couch, an elephant unwilling to budge its tree-like trunk. The sharp edges of books, long worn out by too much touch and still lovingly calling for more. The chair, its black rollers, hooves of a horse – not just any horse, but a dark-honey-colored mare with a white streak across her nose and neck. I close my eyes, hoping they would quiet down. There’s work to be done.
The long legs of the table, curved gently, elegant and still, like legs of an antelope in the long grass, her head raised high - remembering some long forgotten question. The heavy, immobile worn out couch, an elephant unwilling to budge its tree-like trunk. The sharp edges of books, long worn out by too much touch and still lovingly calling for more. The chair, its black rollers, hooves of a horse – not just any horse, but a dark-honey-colored mare with a white streak across her nose and neck. I close my eyes, hoping they would quiet down. There’s work to be done.
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