The windy block

The windy block

I went for a stroll around the neighbourhood block yesterday. It was a dark and windy evening and those who dared to go out had worn their hats and put their stiff collar up. I was wearing a dress that reminded me of my grandmother’s bedroom curtains. It could have been the floral pattern of the fabric or the lining of its edges, but I felt like I was in her bedroom saying goodnight for the last time. It was a beautiful dress, with a skirt that flowed under my shawl. CONTINUE READING...

Colours in the cave

Colours and caves

The villagers had to shield their eyes and take in the intricate weaves and colours of their dresses through swift peaks from behind the palm of their hand. All of them stood there, with their dark straight hair, colourless skin and garments, unable to recognise the two girls who had been on their side until lately. CONTINUE READING...

An ode to Wrinkles

Ode to wrinkles The Row Pre Fall 14Shop the dream

“What else can we do but to give an ode to wrinkles?”

An old woman with deep set wrinkles passed me by yesterday evening while I was walking through one of the stone carved alleys of the silent city. She seemed to have stepped right out of a novel — a Russian novel where it is terribly cold. Her petite aging frame was buried in layers of clothing; her coat collar held high with her old hands carrying protruding veins and a loose gold wedding ring, inhibiting the cold from creeping in and leaving only her face exposed to succumb to the glacial air. CONTINUE READING...