I suppose I have just been on vacation from any sense making.Just enjoying being on paper. Being outdoors. Being unplugged.Being healthy. Being somewhat irresponsible when it comes to days and schedules. A kind of UnDoing. But really not at all. Doing a lot of things and just not doing others.
Still filled with intention. Just not explaining it. I've certainly got enough of that behind me. Thinking that whatever is here, or not, might explain itself at this point.
Because of the way this cloth we call Home came together, there are gaps. Along the edge, where a certain kind of staying power is desired, I have filled them.
At the same time marked them. Filled them with cloth or stitch or both. Like lone flames. In red. To remember them. Gaps are important places. Like holes. Probably they had a lot to do with the invention of bridges. And mending. Making do and Just Going.
Silly me. I had forgotten the black and white ones. My personal rainbow would not be complete without them.
I am thinking these beans should just meander through the cloth we call Home. On both sides. That I might stitch them without planning where they go. Just go. Starting somewhere on one edge and wander through till I hit another. Not looking at it from a compositional stand point. Not at all.
March always brings a sense of transition. Or clarifies it.
And then reminds me, really, that to reach for and hold an understanding of change is a growing need. Season reassures. The turn turn turn of it. How it splits open what we think we know. And fills it with possibility.
Spring hasn't sprung but it lies underneath the day.
Warm night rain has left only a thin carpet of slushy snow. The spirit has been lifted. The fever is high. After a few quiet days, words are welling up. Expect a flood then.