it was supposed to be Crow. Beak and tail. but the urge kept coming. Words. in ink. it says:
Summer 77th year 2022 Stand and face in the stick house of Imagination. where you can pray flowers. where Lizard watches and Crow marks the passing of days. No te rindas, grace! in ink.
there is still August to come. and room for more words, should they also come. Summer. my favorite season. 77 the year i have waited for since Seventeen.
if a picture is worth a thousand words, so too can words summon a thousand images …
“in the stick house of imagination where you can pray flowers” …
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You have a way with words – I’ll be praying flowers today
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why 77?
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Your words…I have to say that I took them outside with me and sat under the apple tree, breathed deeply…we hold within ourselves such wonder and the capacity to seek solutions and connection, even in the face of so much… We hold this because we can use our imaginations to bring us to that point of daily joys and each time that we do so, we accumulate and fill our reservoir of hope.
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A beautiful poem — the “stick house of the imagination” & “praying flowers.” I have no words large enough to say Thank You.
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Flowers, one of the things I love best about summer…
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Knowing that written ink words on cloth is not where you usually go…I’m glad you did. Pure poetry.
“…stick house of Imagination. where you can pray flowers…”
I wonder about your waiting for this year, what that means to you…
It makes me wonder what do I wait for? When will my season be? I don’t feel that it is now…but?
Big Love to you. xo
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i am so grateful that those words
came
for me
came to
help
me
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yes. we can.
we can pray flowers. for sure. no matter what.
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long story
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the capacity.
the capacity.
to seek
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large enough to receive FROM you, Margery Knott
reciprocity
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all, the pepper, the tomatoe, the squash …flower too
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no, it isn’t at all where i go….but i needed to.
the knowing….all along….that 77 would come
i love that you think of “my season”….
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Aaarrrrkkk! Aaaarrrrrrkkkk! Aaaaarrrrrrrrrk-k-k!
translated from crow, what a beauty!
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they are overhead. in the morning and again, evening….i call
UP to them, BACK to them….as they mark the days
i am sure they hear me
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I love your serenity, Grace. What beautiful words, colour, stitch.
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windthread 
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