The Twig There It Is. The Twig. It Is Roughly

The Twig There it is. The Twig. It is roughly 15cm long. The bottom half of it is thick, and full of round whorls, ridges, splits and several cracks. Then suddenly, without tapering off at all, no warning whatsoever, the Twig is thinner, no cracks, but only a tiny split at the top where a piece is missing. The Twig is of a dark brown colour at the end; the top is a jig-saw of light brown and dark brown splodges. This camouflage makes the Twig seemingly invisible against the earth, if not for the Twig’s supreme aura visible to even the most mundane eye. The Twig’s angle is not straight. The protective casing around the bottom of the Twig holds it fairly level there, and the top half gently curves. The Twig is two beings: straight, thick, dark and cracked, and the other being is more free – it curves and is smooth, although its colours contrast to that smoothness. The Twig is young. At the top, the young child is set free from its mother, whereas the bottom half is safely cocooned it its mother’s arms. The top of the Twig is benevolence; free from the cracked lines of guilt. The end of the Twig is malevolence; split and ridged with shame. There is the Twig. There it is. Seemingly plain from a distance yet remarkably, intriguingly close to detail when observed thoroughly. There you have it. There it is. The Twig.