i can't sew all that well, it's no secret.
but i made this little number the other night, after a particularly inspired afternoon.
it's fluffy. it's thick. it's warm and reminds me a bit of a woodland creature. sometimes it sheds and leaves little white puffs on my bedroom floor.
but i made it. my fingers threaded the needle and cut the fabric. i did it late at night while robert watched a football game and pablo entertained himself with a new bone. i sat at our old round kitchen table with a little light in the corner, humming to myself.
and there's something organic about that. and rewarding. and like most things worth doing in life, it took time and patience. two things i've found myself short of lately. the process was cathartic.
these hands of mine are nimble. they type fast and hard on a keyboard and their knuckles crack when i'm stressed. they are burdened with hangnails.
but they are also capable. and mine.
and for that, i fold them in a prayer of thanks.