i have been trying to Think. To apply some pattern of logic to my making, to have Thoughts about that that i can talk about at least to my Self*, but i think i'm going to just go. Which is what i do. Having walked up the Hill from eating Vietnamese take out and strawberries from the Wall Garden at the picnic table down there, i sat a minute and then walked over to the basket. Right on top is this cloth. I don't remember it, don't "know" it, and i had to think about how it might have gotten there and i remembered that i'd taken some pieces out of the drawer that i'd been collecting there as possible dyeing cloths…so it was among them. It's markings are vague and many. Smudges. Not what would be called Pretty. But very what might be called evocative? that's a little much, but ok enough a word to convey something. Things are happening in it. Quiet things. But a lot. and i think this is It. Its late in the day. Dusk will come soon. So, tomorrow. I'll look again and then root around in the scraps and fragments to see what else shows up. And that's how it goes.
* when cloth making, i talk to my self with pictures, in my head. images that appear and fade and then form images made of cloth and color and movement.
windthread 
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