No celebrating really.
Just a gentle warm day. Cloth. And thoughts.
This one unrolled on its own. With a little help from a wild cat. I was drawn in. I began to stitch. Basket rings. I thought..
A woman is like a basket. Full or Empty. Still a vessel. A mother. Built to hold. Hold on. Built for safekeeping.
This one is not perfect. It's old. Ragged. Not a circle. It's been cut, it bleeds. It has a dark side. The center is unclear. There are so many layers I lost count. Most of them are not visible. But it is soft. Yet strong. Each ring will make it stronger. It is many mothers rolled into one.
Ok, a celebration then. To MotherRing.