Fallopian Tubes

Between the ovary and the uterus lies a narrow, mobile passageway. Just a few centimetres long, as delicate as a blade of grass, lined on the inside with a fine carpet of tiny cilia that move like seaweed in a current. In this passageway, something happens that the language of biology can barely grasp: here, what was previously separate comes together. Here, life begins its first journey. Here, the possible transforms into the becoming.

The fallopian tube is not an organ that speaks loudly — it is a passageway. A transition. A place of encounter. Medically, it only comes to notice when something no longer flows — when it closes, becomes inflamed, adheres, when a pregnancy lodges where it should not lodge, or when it remains silent even though it should be calling. Then its name appears. Then what was otherwise working beneath the surface becomes visible.