there is wind curling all around the house. it makes deep shadowed sounds against the stone walls and into the living room chimney. hollow and vibrant. it makes music with the giant spring that tries to keep the door of the front porch closed. and picks up the door and slams it. the moon is large and dramatic. dancing with the layered changling clouds and the thick black branches. there is a sudden high pitched scream of the wind through a flag pole. the sort of sound we hear in the summer when the boats and the wind become a possessed sort of choir. but our harbour's boats are quiet and still in their winter poses. silenced in their tombs. now i will head up the stairs to my crowded warm bed. with the baritone roar fresh in my ears. and there will be scraping of branches across the the little bedroom window. with the moon smiling from behind. the distant sound of waves cracking. and the contented sounds of sleepy tom and sleeping cats.
i feel like quilts are alive. they reflect all the little joys that make life special. they emanate love and warmth. the quilts i make blend a grandmother's ideals with a fresh youthful flair. there is a nostalgia for seasons past combined with hopefulness for a bright full future. you can find me online at www.chasinglightningbugs.com