On her knees in the dirt, her mind becomes at once formless and clear. On her knees, she can still see her mother as she had been, still see the dirt on her hems and the rough clogs over her fine stockings. On her knees the world is a whole thing, a single path as welcoming as an embrace.
On her knees, she can forget what her mother did.
Until she stands up, and the world breaks into pieces once again: the chaos of birds singing and carts passing, the rows of limp, brown grapevines splintering in all directions, the old vine jutting out just before the road.