but the most important are these two.
This morning i read this. About …. this:
the Love Letter was taken to a
dock
a dock in Florida, where she spent the day till dusk. Can you Imagine? How this FEELS? this cloth that i made here in the middle of New Mexico, spent a day lying on a DOCK in Florida?????
when i was a child, i "had" to spend chunks of time with my maternal aunt in Northern Michigan, at their cottage on a small lake. Because of lonliness, i spent hours of days of weeks, lying on my stomach on the creaking wooden Dock, that rocked me like a baby in a cradle. The water, singing soft songs, the smell, fragrance, scent of water plants comforting me. Looking over the edge, deep, then deeper, watching all the myriad of beings who inhabited that small body of water. Feeling Held. and to see this, this morning, a Flood of FeltSense, of deep deep Happiness. and that's not all. Guess what's NEXT?….Love Letter is going to go
Kayaking. who could have imagined.
and then i needed to make a big trip to the Laundromat, which you might remember is called the Bubble Machine, but on the way i stopped at the little post office, just in case, and YES…..YES.
HERE. in my home. First Iris….Patricia Spangler…followingthread.wordpress.com…..here. Here, in my hands. in my home. First Iris.
I cannot tell you the nuance of this Cloth. It carries the Soul of an Iris. the stitching of her Beingness….so delicate, yet so fierce, just as Iris is. and the earth, that holds the rhizomes, the rhizomes. The sky that repeats or that is repeated in the bloom.
I carry her around this house, her weight, her Colour, everything. i carry her around, holding her out at arms length….seeing her against the backdrop of where i live. i'd thought i knew which place i would put her. But at least for now, she will be many places.
and i found the book. I'd thought maybe in one of those Reduce to the Bone moods that i'd taken it off to the Library Sale. but no. it was somehow in the cookbooks. ????
Querencia Stephen Bodio. and at the very beginning, this quote:
"Querencia:
The word doesn't translate. It is used in Spanish to designate that mysterious little area in the bullring that catches the fancy of the fighting bull when he charges in. He imagines it his sanctuary: when parked there, he supposes he cannot be hurt….So it is, borrowing the term, that one can speak of one's "querencia" to mean that little, unspecified area in life's arena where one feels safe, serene."
William F. Buckley, Racing Through Paradise
and Just Now, Hanging Laundry in the Company of Goats
there is Nothing. Nothing. Nothing better than this.
windthread 
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