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A dialogue between human violence and one of the oldest cycles: menstruation.

It is the blood spilled for centuries, which persists and grows stronger: wars upon wars, violence against women, hatred, intolerance, greed fed by power and by the fear of difference.

In contrast, and also in composition, feminine blood.
Cyclical. Alive. Blood that nourishes, feels, embraces. That ends and begins its own cycles again, like the phases of the moon.

And yet they still call it wrong, dirty, shameful.

Between extremes, a tension:
the drop of blood of hatred.
The drop of blood of the purest love.

And everything that pulses between them.

Nature whispers its cycles: everything begins, stretches out, transforms and begins again. The sun returns. The flowers get ready in the realm of the invisible before they bloom.

But wintering is not only the season.

Reflected in organic shapes, it is where the shadow of the black night and the mist of the white day touch the grey of the soul. There is a time of withdrawal that asks for no hurry, but that inside seeks the warmth of the sun.

Wintering is cultivating patience.
Let us find its beauty in that.”

Until, at a certain moment, they meet again.

A reunion that is explosive, expansive, passionate.
They flew far. They flew high.
A living reunion, lived in all its intensity, just like the swallows themselves.

Then time passes.
The winds change.
New directions, new paths, new desires.

And, at another moment, they lose each other.

The pain runs.
The tear.
The longing.
The “good morning”.
The “I love you”.

The two swallows, who once met, drifted apart, found each other again, fell in love and, in the end, parted. Now they fly on different paths.

But each always carries a piece of the other.”