tanya picks secrets –shimmering strands of though– out of the ether stream.

collective secrets –the mental substratum of the social– tanya harvests and boils with pasta, roast with stuffed vegetables, bake into bread. tanya needs secrets as you need a morning coffee, an afternoon tea, or an evening run.

unknowable secrets –coaxed out of very particular people with tea, or food, or talk– tanya carefully picks and spins with multicolored thead, or mixes with clay, or casts into pencils. whatever the bearer works with. these, tanya gifts back to the unsuspecting, burdened, bearers.

compelled by unfathomable nostalgia, they work their craft –or hobby, or trade– and, slowly, the unknowable melts, exposing the forgotten secrets lying inside the voids.

finally they can become more than before. less brittle. even if a bit more weathered.

at least, tanya hopes.