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 |  More poems for Promptly Poetry, stuffed into this book because I have reached my limit. |
| I don’t know if it’s an art, or just a craft sometimes it feels like hard labor stitching in colors, one upon another until the vision begins to appear. Suddenly, the lines and blocks of color become the symbols of joy. Snowflakes fall, reindeer dance, trees take shape one branch at a time. It’s heavy and cumbersome not like a painting that rests on an easel or a jigsaw on a table, it’s weight is accomplishment. A struggle for weary shoulders to lift, a burden for arms to carry, yet there’s deep and satisfying warmth when laid upon my lap. This tapestry of woven yarn built one stitch at a time, drives me line upon line until the joy of knotting the last end. But there’s still hanks of yarn that ask to be entwined and raveled into stories and pictures that travel from my heart to my hands. |
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