Talk is tattoo. Talk is body paint and house columns. Talk is never just stream of consciousness either. Talk might seem to be blown away by the wind on the lips, but it never is. It is always archived in some way in the continuities of living.
Talk joins past, present and future.
Talk is reading and hearing too. Though illiterate, she 'read' like an Ayurvedic doctor, the full story of the mother and of the fragile life inside her. At ten, I remember I accompanied her a few times to her 'cases', just to move my trembling fingers over a mother's swollen belly, I felt so proud. My grandmother later taught me to recognize different signs and messages a pregnant woman's walk, cravings, limb movements, pains, and bodily odours emitted. With the first cry of the just-born, I thank God and look at my soiled hands with pride.