I touched and unwrapped rippling scarlet sari fabric, a mother's pelt, to tremble in the aroma of old roses, pendulous on a breeze. Mother, you revealed how the women of prayer, with deep lines in their faces, garbed in blue robes, blessed those who came to them seeking clarity. You had been to the homage ground. The click-clack of wax pieces, dropped upon the stone floors, wet with rain. I knew we had come to this unknown land without them .
Some people weave burlap into the fabric of our lives, and some weave gold thread.
Both contribute to make the whole picture beautiful and unique.