I've been staring at this deck prism and the trees out back a lot, especially at sunset. Looking for that perfect moment of light. I suppose there isn't one.
It feels like something is missing. I don't know if it's a time from the past, or something hoped for, or maybe it's just the melancholy of summer's end? I keep replaying the memory of four year old Blue with his ukelele, while we sang "I've Been Working On the Railroad" at the top of our lungs. He suddenly stopped and said with admiration, "You're a good singer, Mama!" That look of believing his mama could do anything. Lately, I apologize every other day for not having a clue how to do this job of letting go.
I finally finished spinning this yarn. It's been on the wheel so long I can't find a photo of how it began or remember who the fiber came from.
The sky has suddenly turned dark, and there is thunder rumbling in the distance, coming closer. Maybe that will shake things up?
