I am the river bleeding rivulets at its mouth,
I am time, many branched.

I was a woman who came of heart, love, hope:
I was thrown out of my hearth.

Alone in this harsh winter, the broken woman works the coal in the shanty town. She is all toil and fate. She is, is but a footnote in our capital culture. She has no wealth and she has lost all.

No education worth a job. No salary worth a home. Age is not on her friendly side. So she goes abandoned by the river, discarded jewel.

She went home, back home to where her father came from. There they called her a foreigner, and said she did not belong. She was western in the east, and an oriental in the west. She did not belong.

She was sent here to these rugged mountains by a twist of fate.  No one told her story. She was forgotten like a grave in the hills. Her wails are the whirlwinds that rise hooding mysteries up the slopes.

Un-clapped cymbal, wind chime, song bowl and ney, unsung songs that compete for attention. Time, many branched.

She won. Brave woman, she won. She fought her fate and said 'I will'. The fire in her eyes stoked people's hearts. They welcomed her home and called her 'Khedi'. She's a guide to adventurers who want to be lost.

I chose this timeline. I jumped in and ran my dinghy down this gorge and emerged into a world of sparkling light.