Sometimes things are a tangled mess at the start. Hopefully, by weaving in and out of it, things will eventually sort themselves out into some sense. I don't know why I needed to stitch that tiny scrap of purple harem cloth into that corner, but there it is, more space than cloth.
These are about ghosts. The good kind, or at the worst, bittersweet. Memories. And home. Ghosts of home, and how home holds memories/ghosts. It's still a jumble, but there are three of them almost finished. That makes it a series, I suppose. A series of thoughts anyway, or a jumble of them. Moon once asked me if I thought ghosts were real?
"I don't know," I told him, "but I sure hope so."
