Sleeping by the fire.
It has become more fun than bother really. Not because we have to. But because it is so fine. On the floor under a mound of quilts. Some still unfinished and it doesn't matter.
A less adult thing to do maybe. But every night is a slumber party. Nothing like a big old patchwork quilt. Scraps of self, staring you in the face at every turn. I dream in small journeys.
Today we prep for the man's trip. He leaves early in the morning. There is always a space when he leaves. I will fill it with stitch.
This quilt goes back to 2006. A still ungiven gift for my son. I have yet to document it fully here. Reminder to self to do that.