February this year. We are at the Hans Christian Anderson museum in Odense, Denmark. There are depictions of swallows everywhere. The only swallow I remember from the stories turns out to be from a story by Oscar Wilde. But the swallows are pretty and they make me think of my friend who has a swallow tattoed on her arm to remind her that she always has a home to go and we had just heard that her marriage is breaking up and I don’t know how to reach out to her. We head to the top floor. There are art supplies. I spend the rest of the afternoon turning a brown piece of paper blue with pastels. I send my friend a picture of this on her birthday.





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