they are always somewhere here…on the basket, on the Table, in the basket and i pick them up. Often. Hold each one, looking again and again at them and never becoming tired of looking at them. And today i thought….it's ok to make ones like these. So what if i make a million? They take up little space, really. They feel so much like parts of me… like Visuals of that Felt/Sense Thing.
and i followed wandering threads of thinking….i typed in the street in Detroit i lived on when i was born through 4 yrs….saw, not THE house because i don't know the number, but one so similar…i recognized it….and i remembered listening to my friend Judy's older sister Ruthie and her friends singing jump rope rhymes. And i typed in where i lived after that and the pic was blurred out but it looked like the side of the front yard, the beginning of the hill that went down and down and down to the creek and i was surprised that i've never spent time thinking about that….how that was also a
Hill
and then the house that was my house in Ann Arbor Mi it's still Yellow, like they painted it after i sold it. Can see both the houses of my neighbors there. All these Places. Still Exist.
Time slows when it's HOT…when HEAT is in control. When the body understands it must surrender. and in a certain way it's a freedom for the mind to wander…?
I loved very much Nancy's [ Pomegranate Trail] comment on 9/2….and thought how the Weft of Us that wander here is so the same, our weaves being who we are, our stories, …..the importance of the Telling of those stories….to "share, compare, teach"
and i know now that i CAN do what i need to do when the number rises over 110. I can. I need to go slow. Stop. go again. Stop. Hose my blouse often, it dries in 20 minutes, But i CAN! and that is great news. I didn't know what to expect.
windthread 
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