I love how morning sun can color a cloth. Like a dip in a warm dye pot. The wind is still howling. A few things were tossed about in the yard.
Wind can be so uneven, blowing here and not there, blowing fast here and slow there. Like stitch, there is tension in wind. One might meet it face on, go with it, use it to keep going.
I might name this Blown Off Course but OK. Then again, I could use that for just about anything I do.
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Today I am thinking about the beginnings of the Magic Feather Cloth. Cloths. I have looked at all the feathers. Now I look at what I have done this year. Finished and unfinished and I am focused on the ring. The circle. The nest. The safety in round. So the Circle it is. At least In this year of the Ring
I had all my big cloths on the floor today. The sleeping loft is over an unheated room. The floor is cold in the winter months. I layer cloths one on top of the other. Walk barefoot. Feel the cloth under my feet. When the quilts are rugs. I call them Quugs. I like that word. It seems ancient. QU-UG.
And so I have started to what-if. What if the first magic feather cloth could be a floor cloth. Something to sit on to walk on. To play on? Curl up on? A magic carpet? What if a big cloth could be a giant sand tray? A healing game. Big enough to be in? Here we go.
Since I have been piling the cloths on the floor, she sleeps there. Often gathering the cloth into a ring around her. She is a good assistant. She was homeless and hurting somehow. I don't know everything about her, but I can tell when she feels safe. She helps me understand cloth as place.
Even though it is February, and the trees are bare, there is warmth, something so odd for here at this time of year. It is easy to be outside even in the morning. Still no sign of winter's usual turmoil. Almost spooky.
The land, behind the studio, slopes gently down. I like it, like seeing the curve of the earth somehow. And when I sit on the ground, the slate path seems to disappear into nowhere. The sea is down there, and although there are homes in between, from this angle I feel like the forest and sea meet. Out there somewhere. The earth is soft and warm with the scent of dried grass and leaves still left from fall. And the moss has taken over in spots, as it does, until the summer sun burns it off. I love this smell of almost spring earth.
...combined with that unmistakable sea air.
We can hear the geese. They didn't leave this year.