Clusters of One
Nymphéas
After drifting through the Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris,
absorbing the layers of colour and light —
the atmosphere of Monet’s natural cycle of water lilies —
I wandered into the Jardin des Tuileries.
The gravel crunched beneath my feet,
and I felt exhilarated by the air of Monet’s world that lingered in me.
I reached into my pocket and found a small, crumpled piece of canvas.
To my astonishment, it must have slipped there mysteriously,
like a secret gift.
As I sat beside the fountain, holding it in disbelief,
it felt as though this little piece had broken free —
wanting more.
A crumpled curl of canvas from Monet himself,
as if it had escaped.
And so these works came to be
Nymphéas —
fragments born of colour, chance, and quiet wonder.
