She must have been a little over 12 when she discovered the great-minor self.
Sitting on a bench she saw herself entranced, hypnotized by quite a beautiful stone, resting next to an old and disagreeable oak tree.
She has a thing for stones… private, discrete.
Underneath it her naked and fragile existence being carried away by fire ants in an ominous procession. The town choir followed the ants walking carefully so as not to crush them, in a minor.
The instruments that joined them were oppressive. Her dress was grim, mimicking the skies colors with a sense of humor that shreds … unravel as well.
There was a bronze statue that cried rose petals. Which descended alone between cracks in the sidewalk, stripping themselves of their physical form, kissing the earth.
The petals transmuting see-ds.
Gathering what she could she planted in such a manner that the first heavy fruits were expelled covered in oil and perfume, preventing the ants to take her away from herself.
She too transmuting, 'thorning'.