I have a fondness for the inconsistent greys of birch tools, the shattered flecks of ocean colored glass set in porcelain, the overcast blur of winter light,
the concern of emotion that can be stitched in wool,
the soft glow of linen, the comfort of bare feet, the roundness of tummies,
the milkshake of that pink,
the curiosity of pose, the tiny cotton flower crocheted with thread on that cold morning, just because,
the cohesion of handmade,
and if we can leave pants out of it, let’s leave pants out of it.
Taking a moment, slowing down, drifting back & forth between all the things that give me joy
a little crochet,
a little nerdy stitching for him,
a little collecting, sorting, sifting & snarking,
organizing like with unlike and scissors with scissors.
Giving a quiet moment to memories, to sadness, to the background ache,
to the melancholy that creeps in when something good, bad or indifferent, ends, begins or stays the same.
Bright studio moments for not dead plants & for giant cones of red wool,
and for creating tiny treats, small enough for a mouse’s pocket.
Moments for loving grouchy grinches & for just plain love,
and maybe a little extra moment for the love of 8 homemade butter mints.