The wind is still blowing across dark gray skies, while I try to stitch twinkling flowers into a kind of star shine. The afghan beneath it was a seventeenth birthday gift from Grandma Blanche. It's thirty-something years old and made of polyester yarn, it will last forever.
Maybe I'll mix in some of the usual white stars, too. To float with the flowers and house in a riot of giant blooms. Grandma would've liked this one.
(More about Blanche and her afghans here.)
