Sometimes what we do might just be an attempt to soften what seems a hard-edged world. What if learning could be seen as a kind of softening? The transformation of the sharp edge. As I age, I learn so much more about people. And I am able to accept them for who they are or even more importantly, who/what they think they are. You know, rather than just ...
who the fuck do you think you are?
The cloth I call An Impression of May has somehow moved with the season, mellowed into a bit more color. It is just going like season does.
A Mothering , I want to call it that.
There are generations of softened cloth here. All weary of a world of sharp edges. Still holding.
Porch repair looms. Noise, mess, cat trauma... A little time out.