Yesterday I stitched,
and stitched, and thought about next to nothing. Just enjoyed the stitching, cloth and their stories. There was sketching, and stitching the sketches, and sketching the stitching, all day, into the twilight, even turning on the big overhead light, which always feels wasteful, but still, I needed, wanted, was loving, the stitching. I stitched until my eyes were blurring, and a little longer than that, and then I scribbled words about the stitchings. Today I will probably need to undo a little of those last threads, but it was good.
Late in the night, K. asked, "Are you ok?"