The smell of chi tea rises to mingle with the yeast of bread, waiting to proof. Head down, the needle slips between the stitches, first one side then the other. A rhythm is set up, a gentle tug brings the pieces together. Side by side, snug, the pieces begin to form a whole. It's not done, by no means, but it is coming together. After three years of forming the fabric, taking the time to put it together is an act of patience. I want it done now. But it will be done in it's own time. I've got to put it aside, again, and work on things promised.The sounds of football fill the living room, while songs of Christmas fill my head. Rain falls. Sunday evening moves into the work week.
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