Story 36: Begin Again
My late MIL was a weaver. She wove beautiful blankets, scarves and shawls, but my favorites are the multicoloured patterned towels that I use to dry my hands, that glow with contrast and harmony, thread together colours that you or I might neverdare, unless you know their art, which she did.
Coming Soon: Sleeping Beauty
Warning: not much happens in this story, unless you count my description of a breathing lake; or count the unfortunate rent in my winter coat, torn by the thorns of tall blackberry canes. In this story, no coyote will suddenly trot across a frozen lake; and your tolerance, your threshold for boredom, might not be as high as mine.