Running my hands across my apron, the scent of plants lingers and I can trace the blackberry and rose leaves
Tucked quietly at the collarbone, silk hidden on the inside next to my skin, the word Peace – repeated over and over as a chant in my head, in chain stitch – the linking stitch..
The world outside, an every day moment of active thanks to the natural world and a noticing, looking, absorbing – wearing the apron, a camouflage for melding into what is there
Wrapping, wrapping, wrapping, folding, making bundles of magical transformation
Plaiting the strands of thread slowly, threading a needle, stitching pockets inlaid with petals
Watching India’s hands working, listening to her voice, repeating to remember
Daisies for my grandmother whose cloths I continue to work on – many daisies, many leaves and she embroidered all the forget-me-knots before she passed
Continuing in footsteps …