A rug that speaks a primal lexicon, beginning from the unusual shape of the top of the niche and continuing with the syncopated rhythm of the field, sparsely decorated with randomly arranged motifs. Even the border looks peculiar, with the sawtooth leafs appearing as if suspended in air by the absence of the ever present calyx motif. The palette here is particularly pleasing, and paint a picture of an ancient, uncontaminated nature that I find myself yearning.