All done at my end, and now it has things to do and be with Wendy's children.
The back holds a sketchy story, a kind of dot-to-dot where a soul can trace their own paths through the soft sky flannel.
I will miss this child with her wild hair and dreams . . . with her starry gaze into the twinkling fluttering skies and the deep blue sea . . . singing songs of birds and starlight and Self.
The boat opens, with room inside of it, for whatever the children might need to put or imagine in it. That seemed important this time. It's lined with a bit of the cloth that went into Blue's baby quilt. (The glittery starred fabric that was a gift from K. one Christmas, when Blue was just about half way here, and I was still afraid to hope that he would really come.)
Home beside the flowing sea, on a hill filled with wishes and light. (I know that the "hill" shape holds something for me, the meaning is still just out of reach, but there is something in it to figure out.)
And there is love in the middle of it all, lots of love. Not "because" love, just solid steady it's true love.
I will miss this child, this cloth. I will miss them, I will miss them. I will miss them.
At the same time, I'm so full of where they might go, what they might hold for others. For children. Children who need to be held, to be believed, and to believe. To know they belong to themselves. ox