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I was sad all day, and why not. There I was, books piled on both sides of the table, paper stacked up, words falling off my tongue.  The robins had been a long time singing, and now it was beginning to rain. What are we sure of? Happiness isn’t a town on a map, or an early arrival, or a job well done, but good work ongoing.  Which is not likely to be the trifling around with a poem. Then it began raining hard, and the flowers in the yard were full of lively fragrance.  You have had days like this, no doubt. And wasn’t it wonderful, finally, to leave the room? Ah, what a moment!  As for myself, I swung the door open. And there was the wordless, singing world. And I ran for my life. —Mary Oliver, Work, Sometimes 
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 You cut a length of thread, pull the end through the eye of a needle and knot one end.  You take a piece of fabric and push your needle into one side of the cloth, then pull it out on the other until it reaches the knot.  You leave a space. You push your needle back thru the fabric and pull it out on the other side. You continue until you have made a line, or a curve, or a wave of stitches or simply a mark.  That is all there is: thread, needle, fabric, and the pattern the thread makes.  This is sewing.
............................................................................................. Words from the book….THE THREADS OF LIFE A History of the World through the Eye of a Needle CLARE HUNTER |
