And so it begins... The weaving of tapestries in threads of black ink These drops are now dried by a sun falling behind blue waters, though my heart rises when I write them. Soon the moon will accompany me down lanes of memory of the two of us toying with *sohbat* Memories of sweet Fariba, the spiny cactus, and dry winds that whisper across dry sands... Here there is the bellow of seals and the leaping of dolphins to catch my eye. Such different worlds.