Art, Children, family, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I decided I could and so I began.

All the colors of fine silky floss of embroidery laid across the arm of the sofa.

I’m only two down with five to go.

I’m looping little french knotted threads in bright colors, little knots, ornaments on the tree.

And I vaguely remember the knot technique, the other stitches are abstract, just color, giving idea of light and branch.

And I’m thinking about this idea I had, embroidering our stockings this year.

And thinking ahead to the next, maybe I’ll add more color each year, more little dots depicting ornament.

Then, a thought I loved, not found unnatural at all.

I thought, I hoped, I imagined that one day these stockings might be hung in the home of my daughter, my son and that they’d run their fingers over the textured dots of color and they’d think of me.

Think of my handwork.

The work of my hands.

3 thoughts on “Handwork

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