Lemon Tsupryk Q4 #4: Oldest Rememory
Warm things, moving things; shapes, dancing, alive. Browns and greys shifting into orange, flickering, flitting, sparks like stars but the stars are out there in the cold dark and you’re in here, surrounded by safe voices and familiar smells. There are many here with you. Some are dancing, and those too old or too tired to dance are singing. The being you came from—your mother—holds your little hands in hers and spins, despite the pain in her soles from a long day spent gathering mushrooms and fruit. Long-haired furs laid out on the floor far from the fire tickle your ankles as you spin by. “Be careful!” one of the older ones warns and your mother apologizes for you, halting your pair orbit by pulling you closer. The older one is mixing colors on sheets of bark, swirling spit and water and clay into reds and browns, the same reds and browns the bulls and horses running above your head are made from. It has been a long time since your family—your group, your people—have been ...
