By Joan Slatoff
“It’s the textures and colors.” Gail brushed her fingers over the weaving on her loom; the bumpy, palest-of-pink yarn from an organic farmer in Thailand, the softest lavender brown from a woman’s collective in Uruguay. The rough edges.
“Tch.” Her mother leaned over the loom inspecting Gail’s work, lips pursed. Her hooded eyes withheld private thoughts. Who knew about what? Gail did not want to know. “But technique,” continued her mother, “when that’s missing…”
She wasn’t used to this. As a child, everything she’d done had seemed to delight her mother.
“Tea?” Gail asked. They’d go to a café. Neutral ground. Safety.
Well done.
So much sub text, and a great portrait of a relationship,
Thanks Ed!
Excellent piece. Words unsaid conveys the emotion.
Thanks JP!
Amazing 100 words tell the tale of 1000 words.
Thanks I. R. !
Great story!
Thanks Marie!