She hangs in my kitchen. Sometimes I see her, sometimes I don’t, she suffers from the invisibility of the familiar you see. But, when I do catch sight of her, leaning over my chopping board as I cry over onions, I wonder about her, who she was, what was she thinking as she was sitting (or standing) there, sucking a blade of grass, or is it a barley stalk, being painted? Look at her hair, covering her eyes, as if she has a secret she’s not going to tell, and why not paint her eyes? I guess they were hazel, or maybe brown, deep brown to convey a generous nature, a kindly girl, eager to please. No! Let’s be more adventurous, she’s not secretive, she’s sly, manipulative, posing, presenting a fake image because a few years ago something happened….and her story begins…..