The beauty of the temple gardens is a simple one. The ripeness of the peaches, the green of the light through the leaves, and the trickle of the stream. We walk without speaking for a while, observing the workers pruning and planting.
‘Are these priestesses?’ I ask.
The priest shakes his head. ‘They are women whose families have fallen into great debt with the temple. They work here to clear what they owe.’
One such woman turns, and I see that where her eyes ought to be, there is a knot of old, scarred flesh.
‘You take their eyes?’
‘So they might not look upon the gardens, a paid privilege, which would incur greater debt. It is a kindness.’
Paddy Dobson
19th May 2023