{In a tangle. On Sunday my hair is a stranger to a comb.}
Let it be noted, the house did not leak. Through the night, it rained, and steadily so, but not a drop fell inside the house. The night was long and slow to pass, but come morning all was discovered dry that should be. The garden is soaked through, its beds of succulents, cacti, and lilies wet, and trees rendered new colour, darkened by the downpour. The fence palings, too, a dark woody hue in place of bleached pine standing tall around small garden perimeter. It was with anxiety coursing through the veins that I had listened to the rainfall on the roof, not pleasure. I was worried after the misfortunate flooding several weeks past that we would be allotted a second dousing. We were not. Relief, such relief, felt from sleepy-headed top to barefoot. No curtains to dry nor linen to wash, our house proved impenetrable fortress. I thank my lucky stars and set to a day wrapping zine orders for tomorrow’s post.
{Tomorrow will find me also at the gallery, turning once more the pages of some of my twenty-one collaged books.}
+ My new zine Postcards from… A key to help make your own world visible can be purchased here.
(My dear friends, I am dumbstruck by your many zine and card orders received thus far. As promised, the first ten orders received a little extra something
made of paper and fabric, and so did the ten that swiftly followed. I am flattered by your enthusiasm. Thank you, all of you, for your interest in these things made.)
