Over the quiet time in December, I stitched a little on this cloth. It is an oldie. Goes back to a simpler time, one of my earlier what-ifs. Like many cloths rolled and stored, it surprised me a bit. It is not large, about 22 inches square. And it is more "quilterly". Like things I was making back then, I put it away for that reason actually. I felt I had outgrown that I think. I was swept up into something and lost touch with work that didn't seem to fit that ideal. Still, after sitting with it for a few days I came to know it again. As me. And wondered who was I? Who am I? Who will I be? I added to it. Like the line of text above. It once was something about edges. I can't remember exactly but the edge that was is no longer the edge that is now. Which makes the words edge that are floating around rather funny actually. Some of the other edge words were removed and used for edges of other things as I recall. So it was edgeless for a while as I was on to something else...Many something elses.
Thinking about edges today. How sometimes we use them to define finished. In between. Use them like fences. To mark a safety zone. A boundary. To compare. Measure. To stop. To accuse. To reassure. To look back. To go forward. And even to make time stand still.
In this year after The Year I Became Old I feel the need to erase my sense of edge. The line, that is, that separates things in my mind and encourages fragmentation. Comparison. Judgement.
I only have a sense of this. So that is all I can say.
Except I added this today. And made a note to self...I am the edge....
So here I am. We all are actually, where ever we are. Another day.
Here it has turned cold. With the biggest cold yet to come as the days grow longer. I've been quiet. Without words for why. That has not changed really. I wrote in my journal today, waiting for January. And then I wrote why?Why am I always waiting? Undo that. This is the great Undoing I think. The hardest. Undoing the definition of patience.
This is the month when shadows are long. Now I see where my stray cat inspiration has come from. The shadow of going. Which seems here a bit like standing. Without waiting.
I have learned a lot from this little beast. The first cat I have rescued from the wild. My wild. This place where I live and watch how it changes. This place that challenges me in so many ways. I marvel at how he knows it. He has no schedule. No place. He goes out. He comes in. He sometimes does not come in. He is fine. And he knows how to take care of himself. I like that about cats. I have tried hard not to break him. I am just here for him.
This one has been headless for too long. Inspired by this, I think I found a solution.
Ichanged the curtains in the studio to thin white linen. I like the way they seem a bit like fog. I feel Thin lately. My thoughts are diluted by some sort of calm that has overtaken me. Maybe it is the cold. The feeling of hibernation that is forming. But I think it is something else. My thoughts seem more transparent. I find layers of other thoughts showing though. It is a bit confusing. Dream like at first but then just something that slows me.
There is a prism hanging there, hard to see.
And it did this:
And I hung around for the longest while, doing this:
I wonder, is it that I have slowed...enough to let my time be filled with these things?
A soft morning. A softer transition than expected. Colder but only a bit.
A November mist, like a curtain separating yesterday from tomorrow. Leftover moisture from the recent warm days. Leaving. I can almost hear it going. And so it will begin. The cold will take hold. We are prepared, yet that feeling of confinement is unavoidable. The strategy for winter this year has more layers. Managing them. All triggered by weather. On the coldest days, the ones with below freezing temperatures, we will again retreat to one room. Saving wood so we can really spread out on more moderate days. Managing it day by day with close attention. Rocking right with it. Undoing schedule and sleeping when it makes the most sense.
My blog schedule will change with the deep cold. Expected soon. I try to make a projection for winter, but instead I decide to stitch the mist. Unsure how to do that really.
The smallest stitch I can manage. A single thread. A Shapeless haze perhaps. With no edge? Mist is confusing, there but not there. And the confusion quickly takes form as a patch of uncertainty.
Simple and clear. Ha. I'll need a lot of these.
So that is how winter might go. There is a beauty in that.
PS for all you travellers joining me in Small Journeys, I added a layer to yesterday's post. That might happen in this season of uncertainty. You might just check the monthly index now and then to catch the order of things.