Tuesday, April 26, 2005


Yesterday's blustery day has been replaced by a stillness complete. The sun is shining, slanting shadows across the quiet fields and reflecting the trees and neighbors house perfectly in the pond.

The wind blew wildly most of the day yesterday, only settling at sunset. In the long grass of the field the wind is a visable presence, creating ripples like waves in the sea. It was cold along with the wind, a harsh day to stay in with the computer and crochet. I worked up a few things to put on the web page and sat down to start the Shetland/mohair shawl yet one more time. When you're doing your own ideas, sometimes the pattern just doesn't click right away. THIS time, though, I think I have it!

As I was sitting curled up in my big chair, surrounded by books and listening to the wind outside, I was thinking about how the stitches I was working connect me with others. I am often alone, almost never lonely. Solitude and meditation have always been my connection to the spiritual as well as to my inner self. Even with my dad here I spend much time to myself; he is content with his books and Bible, and with rediscovering his home.

Yet I am so connected to the world. As I sit stitching in my little house in the field in the Blue Ridge Mountains, Cathy stitches in her house in the mountains of Colorado, surrounded by the beautiful gardens she and her husband have created. Kim stitches along in the mountains of New Hampshire, sharing not only a love of fiber with me, but also a love of the German Angora and of special spaniels. These are women I have never met, and may never really know in conventional terms, yet I feel that I do know them. Part of the connection I feel to them is creative, and also because they seem to love their mountain homes as much as I love mine. And there are really thousands of us, in the mountains and in the lowlands, in the cities and small towns. All stitching away peacefully in our little special places.

I sat crocheting late last night, watching the moon come up over the neighbor's hill. It's hard to describe something so beautiful; as the light changed across the fields and the shadows touched the barn and outlined the edge of the woods. Upstairs in my cozy little room, I looked out at the fields, finally stilled after a day of rough wind, and saw the shadows of passing clouds, as elusive as the wind itself, as the clouds strayed across the face of the moon. A time to feel content, as a warm spaniel curled at the end of my bed and placed her chin across my ankle.

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