The Carvings in the Table

I know you see a table, but what else do you see? I see wood, I see shapes, and I see a surface similar to no other. Rich wood, with moving forms, and exuberating force. Braveness and calculated freedom in the shapes, hiding and getting lost in the table. I see in the table a reassuring feeling that the past is around us, hiding in the least expected places, just like a table.

I see moving legs, and figures on the top of the table. When the table top closes, I see the image of a magnificent peacock, walking in a floral field. And when the top opens up, I see four panels with animals carved in them, and the animals are playing, free and joyful. I see flowers, and the sun, and suddenly the table looks like summer.

I see mahogany, old mahogany, old and sad mahogany, and I see dust. I see the table, and I see mahogany, old, sad, and dusty mahogany, and the table’s presence is so loud that I can hear its imaginary steps. I see mahogany, I hear mahogany, and I wish there is a place where all of the tables with old, sad and dusty mahogany go.

I see the table’s legs, and I see carved snakes going up them. The snakes look fast, and they go up the table with vigor. The snakes wrap the table’s legs, and they become part of the table. The table doesn’t move, of course, but the snakes give the impressions of movement, and I see the table coming towards me.

I see a table, and I glimpse the past carved in it. I see the past, and I discover stories, and animals, in the table and I feel less alone. I see the table, and I recognize something about myself, something about the world, something that had always been with me. I see the carved wood and time continues to go by.

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