Guernica

I dream in black and white, awakening to grey. It is the language of grief. Walking into the long room, standing before the canvas tall, wide, unending. This is where grief lives. I behold this hell and know it, not for the first time. A common market day, the women gathering, the children playing, the horse pulling the dray. On this canvas of terror, immured, frozen. I do not cry. Until, the tiny flower catches my eye, whispering the promise of spring.

(In response to Guernica by Pablo Picasso, at Musea Reina Sofia, Madrid, Spain. Oil on canvas, 11ft 5in tall)