A large cloud of dust kicked up by a herd of sheep is headed in your direction. You shade your eyes against the glare of the desert sun and peer through the haze, trying to identify the resplendent figures in the rear. They are clad in brilliant colors, accented with dazzling flashes of light. As they approach, your suspicions are confirmed: you are in the presence of a Rabari family. (Full article; opens in new tab)
I am a weaver, but I could not weave. Instead, I dreamt.
I dreamt of silk in colors of an ocean sunset. I dreamt of patterns emerging as I passed the shuttle back and forth, of waves undulating across the fabric, of the tide ebbing and flowing up and down the length of it.
Clusters of malformed blood vessels in my brain, cavernous angiomas, had bled, wreaking havoc... (Full article; opens in new tab)
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