I call it Just Time. A small journey that keeps staring at me. There is no real way for me to say this is done. But it feels close. It is thin, and it embraces shift. The crescent is both like a cradle and a slice of rawness. Another story cloth aka Everything Is So Fragile.
The Japanese Maple has let go.
The Oaks are turning.
Unlike where I moved from where it was almost all Oaks, here it is mostly Maple and Hickory which turn first, the leaves falling before the Oaks begin their transition. I realize in this season, watching the colors has helped me draw a map of how things grow here, in my mind. I am learning by color and timing and relationship to climate. The woodpiles which we have just started to use, have hats fashioned from old pool covers.
In the Nest of Days, I focused in on that woven eye. Vision changes from day to day. Some days I see with my heart. Other days I see with my mind. An eye, for me, vision, contains both of them. Must contain this balance. I just said that to myself. Knowledge is a feeling I also hummed.
I would like to weave more eyes. What if I weave more eyes?
Today I will clean the windows.
After some technical advisement, the short version of the story,I did, indeed,lose the files on my hard drive. And the computer is non functional. So "things" fell apart. But I didn't. And I have kept my needles threaded. Just needing some time to gather some appropriate patches. Seems the older I get, the more pieces there are to work with. And ways to hold them together.
September has taken hold. Warmer than usual but still...
The turning has begun. It will dip into the 40s tonight.
This is the edge of the Coma Cloth. Where the edge was no match for new eyes.
I have so many new eyes. I just feel like closing them all. If only for a moment's rest. I watched the news before bed, woke up, went out to the chilly porch and screamed "I can't take it anymore!". A few moments later, off in the distance, over the hill past the stone walls, I heard "Me either".
If the path before you is clear,
you are probably on
someone else's.
-Carl Jung
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