Dreaming of Spring

woke from a dream in which all my nemeses were involved.  The only hurtful person who wasn't in it, my Grandmother, upon waking I thought to myself "She was probably working remotely"  LOL like my husband works from home on his projects sometimes.  Dreams are weird.  Mine are like movies, AND not only in color, but with plots (stupid ones, usually) and smell and feeling, I can remember textures when I wake.

Blah.  Made for a tired morning, but I still got this done--10 batts of the rose color I dyed yesterday mixed with natural gray mohair, enough for two large singles that can make one large skein:

and these others are ready, too, with Boo on a fresh cushion in the window to inspect them with his outstretched nose--

sorry the photo nipped off his already too-short tail, but you don't get to see his pretty little face much so I clicked the camera to catch that.

Sixteen degrees out.  Cold, trying to snow.

The Making of Spring

I stand at the carding machine, slippered and shawled

and look out the window at the cold I can feel even within my house

and the cat meows to fluffy fat birds eating last night's cornbread.

I place some gray into the carder and begin to crank it

and then, deciding not to live in this moment, but in spring instead,

I throw in a rosy pink, the color of June sunsets

and pretty flowers I know will return

and watch the two colors grow together in the batt

gray skies becomes roses, bit by bit, and I smile for the spring that is coming.

Comments

[Lori]

Love Boo and even more your poem, beautiful!