She looked down at her creation. What was once a bunch of scraps, fragments, had now materialised into a perfect whole. She had not expected such elegance. Especially as it had emerged from such chaos, which had left her frustrated and close to tears at times.
Each time she had felt like giving up, a glimpse of light, a creative surge, would arrive in the nick of time to drive her forward. Pieces she was on the point of discarding now found perfection through connection. The ugly duckling piece had now attained a beautiful swanlike appearance within the pattern formed with its neighbours. All the pieces were swans now, no ugly ducklings. There never were ugly ducklings, it was just her tired mind attempting to lead her down blind alleys. But always that creative spark appeared to lead her, to drive her, forward.
The intricate interweave of what had once been random hexagon shapes had arrived at something breathtaking in its beauty. The shades, the hues, the patterns, all now sewn together in perfect symmetry.
But the symmetry only applied to the shapes themselves. The colours and patterns had developed in perfect asymmetry. It seemed to sum up the paradox of life.
Some things are meant to be symmetrical. Others to be asymmetrical and surprising.
She looked down at her quilt again with quiet pride. The piecing together of a work of art, which told the story of her life to anyone who held the code.
That code was precious to her, her private sanctuary. She would never reveal it to anyone.
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