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Not what is not there
and yet not what is there now
but what is coming.
a haiku. by Jan in Nagasaki
50 posts categorized "stones"
Sometimes we don't see things. But then looking closer we do. But then looking closer still, so so close, we can no longer see what we saw. Funny how ageing might be a kind of change like that. That what we thought we saw isn't there at all. So we keep at it. Looking.
As I continue with the path sections, I begin to use some very old green velvet to fill some gaps. The same velvet I used here. At the beginning of all this. The cloth is from Mom's old velvet jacket. She loved moss green. I sit here and realize how long some of these scraps of cloth have been with me. How many small journeys they have taken. We have taken. We have grown old together.
I have finished placing the stones on 2 panels. The sections measure about 9 x 21. For no particular reason except they feel about right. They might be tied together. Or not. I think there will be about 6. Guessing. Like guessing the number of jelly beans in a jar...how many stones are in the basket?
Hard to believe, maybe, that I am still stitching so much on this cloth but feeling at the same time that it is really done. I think that is because the uncertainty is over. Now things are just falling into place. As if I dreamed it and I have awoken to a clear day and I am just remembering a story. Not making one up.
I am refining the Four Corners.
I am also noticing the weight of the cloth. The more I add, the lighter it seems to become. I think the silk base on the earth side did that. As I quilt through, the silk has a strange effect on the drape and feel as it joins with the rest of the cloth layers. I get the impression it becomes thinner as I go. It UnDoes a kind of heaviness that has lingered through winter. In this way it is kind.
We almost had a freeze last night.
More feathers will be added to the jagged edges on this side. I may have to cut some from their backing to fit them together. Bring them closer. In this way space again becomes important, but in a different way. Less of it.
Please note... I have rebalanced and find myself with many family and friend type folks in far away places that miss me on Facebook so I have put the link back in the sidebar and will simply post there in moderation. Not really spending much time there, but there all the same.
Because little things are practice for bigger things and I want to add a ring of these to the big cloth I call Home. To me they are a form of reassurance. And a way to use some of the colors I don't usually use. Jelly Beans are like that.
And it will help me. Move on from some small sadnesses that crept in while I wasn't paying attention. And sharing what helps me might help others.
(For those subscribed to Small Journeys...I will be back to that series after April. I have taken a break to finish the Magic Feather cloth I call home. The big cloth. Which I am focused on this month. I will back track to cover any small journeys taken in the process, including this one.)
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.