The Gardener

I’m traveling today. Shaded by Gorm’s old hat, I’ve traversed through wind & water to reach Sisters Hope Home. My period arrived as soon as my feet left land. My mind lingers, perhaps lost back at sea.

The cycle begins on my first day in Sisters Hope Home. Hope and possibility, birth and rebirth. Gorm’s hat, an echo of a flower uprooted too soon, casts a heavy shadow on my furrowed brows. Loss and sorrow, grief and acceptance. Absurdity and sunkissed cheeks.

I think of Death. I think of the gardener withering plants in H. C. Andersens’ Historien om en Moder. I think of the blood flowing from my loins, dripping and marking my every move.

Death & rebirth. Sisters through thick and thin. Relationships bonded by blood and fire. Hear me cry.

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