Inspired by Camille Pissaro (1830 – 1903) – Peasant woman kneeling – Charcoal on grey paper – 12,60 x 9,45 inch

I feel so tired this morning. It seems like my belly grew throughout the night. Still, it is not yet the time. My aunt repeated to me once more yesterday that I had plenty of time to finish the cabbage crop. So why am I so exhausted ? Why this stabbing pain in my lower stomach ? I really have to go work and join the others. And particularly because there is this other pregnant woman at a later stage who is doing just fine. The boss wouldn’t get it. And this heat … Gosh, I almost forgot to take some water. Hurry up, my cap to protect me from the sun, I’m going to be late again, I’ll probably get some lashes again. Oh, not too hard considering my pregnancy but however, the last time, my neighbour in the village where I live, had to apply a balm to avoid the infection.

The morning ends up toughly. My back is hurting me badly, my kidneys even more. Kneeling in the dusty ground and leaning forward are two positions close to torture. During lunch break, I realize that I have left my piece of bread on the kitchen table. It doesn’t matter, anyway, I’m not hungry. I am going to drink a little bit of water and it will be enough. I spot a tree to sit confortably under. But by the time I reached it, a couple invaded the place staring at me sharply as if to make me understand that it wasn’t even worth claiming for anything. I turn around and sit down at the end of the field. No shade, the sweat dripping on my forehead, my nose, to die on my lips, and my neck and my back. I’d die for a less heat.

The bell rings, the break is over. I can’t find a way to stand up, my legs won’t let me. A sharp pain, like a tear, strikes my guts. I collapse while making a loud noise. Some liquid and blood, so much blood. In squat position, I push, over and over again and even harder. The pregnant woman has joined me and whispers cheerings. Minutes, hours seem endless when you suffer. Suddenly, out of the blue, in a last breath, last cry, another one, a different one, brighter, raises : my Rose is born.