In my childhood home, every day, after running endlessly under the blue sky, drunk on the sun and the scent of jasmine and petunias, I loved to lie down on a carpet that was full of color and fantastical patterns. Back then, when I’d let my eyes wander, on every one of the ledges, chests, and tables in the room, there was a beautiful patchwork, Pateh, or Qalamkar tablecloth, and in the middle, a vase sat, always full of flowers from the garden. Time passed, and we left that house, and that city, too.
Mahta Moeni