Dried Zinnia.
Faded. Still from seeds from Mom's Garden.
I like perennials, the ones that come up by themselves. Over and over.
But there is something special about being part of the planting, and gathering and planting again process. Not just going, but going with tender loving care.
It's been cold, not that cold but the grey cold that nags on you after a while. I'm tired of it. Tired of keeping fires, tired of spending more time indoors than out. Tired of the news. Dry skin. Laundry. You name it. I'm tired of it. February. Every year. The winter bitch returns.
I've got a lot of the old unfinished ClothWoven pieces on the wall today. Because I love them. Looking. Not stitching cuz my fingers are split and chapped from the cold and hauling wood, and washing dishes and such. This one is an old wishing star. It's the first time I have looked at it as a basket, the wishing star. Basket self in new form. The center was like heart but now I think it is more like wishing self.
Wishing is softer than bitching and it is Valentines Day so I'll be nice.
