074: White Figurines

Their wooden platform is a root, old and half rotten. Sitting in the moss, I wonder how many winters the root has been there. Last year we had flowers on it. This year there are white stone figurines, faceless, embracing each other in a petrified dance. What kind of stone are they made of? I reach out and touch the head of the nearest figurine. It is cold. Hard. They seem lonely, despite having each other. All look towards the centre of the root, turning their back on all but themselves.

But what if they did not?

I imagine some of them made of black granite, others of pink marble, and yet others of red and yellow sandstone. They come to life and leave the root. Slowly they tread in the moss, and when they become comfortable with its gentle warmth, they delight in it. It would have been a brilliant ensemble, glimmering in the sunlight. It really is a shame that they are all white.

Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad on Instagram)