The Explainer, travels with the cloth we call Home.
He is a pocket, a safe keeper, maybe for questions or anything else that needs to rest. And he might be a traveling companion.
Or he might stick close to Home.
I am done. Shooting photos and preparing a site (link to be published soon) where the project might be reviewed in the order of days. Gathering the pieces of the long story has taken time. Longer than planned or imagined.
Now just getting ready to pack it up and let it go. Solstice falls on Sunday. And so does Father's Day. And the same day is the day my mother died, already 2 years ago. How did that happen?
I am truly exhausted, but in that good way. Like a long day in the garden.
This morning the sea breeze arrived as a thin blanket.
A soft spring mist.
Mist fills spaces with mystery.
I get lost in imagining. Mist is a kind of mending.
Sometimes a relief. Covering the same old view and making it new.
Sometimes just making it easier to hide.
I am adding a few more patches to Home today. The last ones. They are pockets. Pockets are useful for many things. That is why I like them.
I'm a bit weary today.
I am going to shrink myself down. Really small. And take a nap in there.
Last night there was not much sleep.
But I am not tired.
I took some pictures of the moon through the trees. And even though I couldn't get the camera setting right, I liked them. Like ragged holes in the sky.
They reminded me of these. Holes in the earth.
Which on this cloth are also holes in the sky.
This morning the cloth we call home was a curtain. Hanging between me and the bright morning sun. Useful. Shielding me. But at the same time filtering through the cloth to help me complete this Ring of Vision.
It is interesting to be mending the cloth with holes. New eyes. Space. Less.
Today will be warmer. Rain has waited till tomorrow.
Early this morning Mr. Robin ran by. So quickly I could hardly catch a shot. I caught him between breaths.
Last night I turned the cloth. This morning just looking. Like some sort of Permaculture. All there underneath. Waiting. Supporting growth. This is the earthen side.
Yesterday. It was Easter. I do not celebrate. But Mom did. I was reminded of how she would line up jelly beans in the hallways while we slept. Little candy breadcrumbs we could follow to find our Easter baskets. She always told us the Easter Bunny must have dropped them on his way through I smiled to myself and said maybe I should make a little holiday cloth. Stitch some jelly beans. But I sat, lost in thought. I thought about my Mom. Who she was. What she gave me. What she gave everyone.
Holidays were not rituals to her. Not banners of belief and doctrine. They did not include or exclude. They were for everyone within reach. They were a way, excuses really, for her to return to a simpler time. Childhood. And share that. Give that back over and over. The love and the fun and the sense of simple joy and laughter. And she did. Over and over. As long as she could. I see it now as a reminder. To push the pause button. To get back.
And when I sat with the cloth this morning. With it's simpler side. I saw them. The stones that trace the rings of my basket-self. The jelly beans.
CandyLand was always my favorite game.
I am going outside. For the day. To stick my hands in the dirt and let winter blow off me. Ride my bike.
Warm. That place between cold and hot.
Comfort. Yesterday was that.
And the feeling of clearing space. It spread throughout the house. Some local charity called and left a message. Do you have any clothing or household items you might spare? I called back, yes. Yes, I have things.
This is the beautiful bowl my son made. It holds the safety pins that I have been removing from the feather cloth. The ones that have been replaced with stitch. I call him. "Make another that I might send to Wendy's kids." Send that one he said. It means more.
I have this idea that things might be pinned to the cloth, for safety. Or pinned anywhere. I like the idea of a safety pin.
A clear day seems a big day. It opens.