Anna turns away, then reaches down to pick up my knapsack for me. "I like this. All the colors."

I take it and slip it over my shoulder. "I saw old women weaving them, when I was in South America. It takes twenty spools of thread to make this pattern." 

"Truth's like that", she says, or it's what I think she says, but by then she has left the room. 

--Jodi, Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

No comments:

Post a Comment

in the wake of light, your words bring me more(please, do leave your fingerprints behind, so I may relish the image of our hands after you go.)