Winter rose. She is stunning.
I love how she seems to hold so many moments at once. And I can remember what's missing.
Yesterday. The day seemed to melt into early spring. Most of the snow has gone. And with a day of steady rain, we will be left with mostly wet earth. The smell of that.
And winter me. Not the Winter Bitch from last year. No. Softer, grayer, not caring one bit, spending time trying to make my hair seem like thread.
I did spend some time, late into the night, by firelight, stitching the old bitch.
An older and wiser Winter Bitch. Resting in a nest (basket) of lines and wrinkles and patches... I just decided to lose the pen completely. Let the lines form. See what emerges. And just love it. Acknowledging with joy that she is simply still here. When the ink runs out of my pen, I will not buy another. There is always walnut ink. Or no guide at all.
I am using sewing thread for the new dark lines, split back stitch, one strand of thread, splitting hairs.
It is February. I am very in between coming and going. With lots of loose ends to tie up. There will be gaps.
Winter Bitch continued from some old Small Journey here.