One turbulent day last week, I went up to the lake. The wind was tearing the water into whitecaps and pulling at my skirt and scarf, misting my hair. I love this kind of day. It makes me feel a little bit hearty. Rosy-cheeked and tough and merry, like Heidi on the Alm with Peter and the goats. I look at all that gray, the weathered, rounded stones, and the wind-scoured rocky shore and my muddy bare feet and my chapped nose and whipping hair and feel kind of wild and wonderful.
I think we’re mostly done with summer here in the North. It is cool and cloudy and windy, and the sky keeps churning and threatening. The garden is a jungle. At dusk, I hear distant geese, making their way. It feels like it’s time for this quilt.
Wouldn’t it be great if it would stay lit from within like that, stained-glass all the way to the finish? I don’t know why I haven’t left a quilt top unfinished, and used it as a curtain.
By the way, thank you ALL, so much, for commiserating with me last week. It is good to be here with you, and I am so grateful. :)
