And blessed be the window makers, for they will be called the parents of color

Imagine a world of grays. Not one but hundreds of grays. Grey red, gray yellow and a grayish air floating almost transparent over identical rabbit hutches that house compact and numerous families.
Now imagine trying to find a way out. You could not scream and there is no place to run, except out your own window. And windows you needed!
In my house there were many windows. Paperback windows, pocket size editions and even xeroxed pages of colored glass from the central gray committee's photocopier. My dad collected them so we will have places to hide to when there was no heat in the winters or no food worthy of the name to be had in the fridge.
And then were the window makers. They wold visit my dad and in a cloud of western  contraband cigarettes wold turn grays in to explosions of vocal colors and then wold there be rhythm of poetry and colors on the face of my parents and their friends. And blessed be the window makers, for they will be called the parents of color. And so I grew up thinking that there is alchemy in the words and the magic of transfiguration.
I joined them when I was in high school ,by accident. I almost flunk physics in a vocational school and as a last chance I was ordered to wright a short S.F. story and go to a students contest with it. I joined my dad's friends (ho now smelled of cheap Russian contraband tobacco) and started my apprenticeship as a window maker. I had imagination, life experience worthy of a street urchin and a hunger for metamorphosis. I won a honorable place at that contest. So honorable that I was assured easy sailing in the sciences and crafts and could graduate .
Now the old window makers respect me for my craft but I want more. I want steined glass.
I want to transfigure my world in to a cathedral of words.

Categories: Alergie la romania, nimic important