stitching.
battening down,
i call it.
riding the thread
to places
unknown
and known but forgotten
and known . . . but maybe not really.
rhythm
soothing
surprising
and still
relaxing in its predictability.
up and down
space for pondering things like
being taken care of
and
self reliance
and
my children
and
my female ancestors
who spent a goodly
part of each day
stitching.
thinking
about fine lines
distinguishing
humility from self-deprecating humor,
for example
and how easy it is for us
to believe the worst in ourselves
instead of the best.
why is that, anyway?
back and forth
thinking backwards about what was,
forward about what if,
and right now
about what is.
or what i sense
is
is.
in and out
thoughts flying.
captured
then released.
remembered
then forgotten,
marked
then erased.
stitches
knots
woven
frayed.
here ‘n there