Once there was a woman who lived in a house of stone. The stone rose up around her and held her in place - in such a way that every task and movement was awkward for her - or so it felt.
Around the house the woman had enough land to keep a small farm, and on the perimeter she had constructed a very inhospitable fence to keep the villagers away.
One day while inspecting the perimeter of her property the woman found two pieces of clothing impaled on a particularly awkward part of the fence.
As the wind moved them, the clothes took on the appearance of a figure in motion and the woman began to think about the person who might have inhabited them. From the clothes she could see that they would have been tall, but probably looked short, and would have been thin, but looked muscular.
She ran her fingers across the fabric of the cloth and thought about how easy it was to pierce with the spikes of her fence. And how easy the skin held within them would have been to puncture and tear.
Carefully, she removed the clothes from the fence and carried them home.
That evening, after some dinner, the woman kept finding her eye drawn to the garments, and could not shift the focus of her thoughts to other matters. Eventually she gave into what she felt herself was a very odd impulse - and arranged the clothes on a chair, as if worn by a person.
It had been a long time since the woman had had company and she had forgotten how stimulating conversation could be. Her new companion gave her an idea one evening to grow some particularly tantalising fruits on the are of her land adjacent to the particularly inhospitable part of her fence.
Soon the woman’s home was so full that it didn’t feel quite so tight anymore. She talked and laughed and played and painted and cooked and danced, always among company.
And so her time passed.
Some years after the house became quiet , the local villagers noticed that it had. It taking them some time to realise the minor change. Realising that they did not know her at all, some of them went to the house to see what might have happened to the woman.
Inside they found clothes. Clothes that they had forgotten about and not longer fitted them. Clothes that reminded them of happier and freer times. Clothes that they had lived live in, and had had their lives encompassed by.
In some rooms they found strange abstract paintings. In some they found fragments of fabric - clothes that had been worn or torn, or had lost the brightness of their colour. And some which the woman had tired to mend with string , or whatever material she could lay her hands on.
As the people moved through the house they discovered a sensation of movement among the stillness, of life among the emptiness. Clothes started to take on recognisable forms, or trigger memory and recognition. The people became slowly - and then quickly - pulled into a vibrant swirl of life and activity that moved them, and moved with them, around the house.
They saw themselves dancing with the woman’s talking, cooking, laughing, crying with the woman - as though it were a memory.
After some time the life they discovered began to fade. But the people went home changed. They let their clothes remain in the house, because it didn’t seem right to take them from it. The pity they had once felt had been replaced by understanding, and they felt that, perhaps, all along, they had known the woman very well.
Around the house the woman had enough land to keep a small farm, and on the perimeter she had constructed a very inhospitable fence to keep the villagers away.
One day while inspecting the perimeter of her property the woman found two pieces of clothing impaled on a particularly awkward part of the fence.
As the wind moved them, the clothes took on the appearance of a figure in motion and the woman began to think about the person who might have inhabited them. From the clothes she could see that they would have been tall, but probably looked short, and would have been thin, but looked muscular.
She ran her fingers across the fabric of the cloth and thought about how easy it was to pierce with the spikes of her fence. And how easy the skin held within them would have been to puncture and tear.
Carefully, she removed the clothes from the fence and carried them home.
That evening, after some dinner, the woman kept finding her eye drawn to the garments, and could not shift the focus of her thoughts to other matters. Eventually she gave into what she felt herself was a very odd impulse - and arranged the clothes on a chair, as if worn by a person.
It had been a long time since the woman had had company and she had forgotten how stimulating conversation could be. Her new companion gave her an idea one evening to grow some particularly tantalising fruits on the are of her land adjacent to the particularly inhospitable part of her fence.
Soon the woman’s home was so full that it didn’t feel quite so tight anymore. She talked and laughed and played and painted and cooked and danced, always among company.
And so her time passed.
Some years after the house became quiet , the local villagers noticed that it had. It taking them some time to realise the minor change. Realising that they did not know her at all, some of them went to the house to see what might have happened to the woman.
Inside they found clothes. Clothes that they had forgotten about and not longer fitted them. Clothes that reminded them of happier and freer times. Clothes that they had lived live in, and had had their lives encompassed by.
In some rooms they found strange abstract paintings. In some they found fragments of fabric - clothes that had been worn or torn, or had lost the brightness of their colour. And some which the woman had tired to mend with string , or whatever material she could lay her hands on.
As the people moved through the house they discovered a sensation of movement among the stillness, of life among the emptiness. Clothes started to take on recognisable forms, or trigger memory and recognition. The people became slowly - and then quickly - pulled into a vibrant swirl of life and activity that moved them, and moved with them, around the house.
They saw themselves dancing with the woman’s talking, cooking, laughing, crying with the woman - as though it were a memory.
After some time the life they discovered began to fade. But the people went home changed. They let their clothes remain in the house, because it didn’t seem right to take them from it. The pity they had once felt had been replaced by understanding, and they felt that, perhaps, all along, they had known the woman very well.