As the winter moves in I look. Sometimes there is a big snow . Everything just seems to disappear. But more often and more interesting is the frost, or that surprisingly thin layer of white you might wake up to without notice. The skin of cold that coats the remnants of a season past. The skeleton of warmth and life is almost celebrated in the texture of frozen time. Giving pause.
I called this one the Tendency to Pull Together. Now aka White Love. Named for the reason of explaining how I feel when I look at it. What I imagined while making it. How I might explain a certain kind of persistence. How season might accentuate that. It has remained untouched for months now as my focus on white over at Diaries has taken a rest. But today the story is as clear as the day is cold. I say to myself... the tendency to pull together. It is always there. Through thick and thin. Rests, perhaps dormant, waiting for a thaw. But always there underneath.
There is no frost, no snow today. But there is this cloth that reminds me.
I look again today. Begin again I want to think. Whatever that might mean. I suppose as I age, I allow myself to consider Just Going to include or even mean Just Letting Go. And in this way I might redefine Magic again as appearing and disappearing, not magic wands and make believe, but mastering change in some real way. Embracing the beauty and sense of that. I keep needing to clarify that. So as not to be misunderstood.
I look again. Consider image. Consider words. Consider self, consider love, consider change. Change is never sudden, I say to myself, I was probably just not paying attention.
I stitched a bit of patchwork this morning. Just patchwork.
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