Trying to describe it is like the task itself. Elusive, not part of your everyday vocabulary. You don’t really know how to begin until you hold the tools in your hands and rely on intuition and muscle memory to take over. I was thinking this while sewing the belt loop of my grey cardigan back on to its side. You take a needle and a thread, the cardigan and the loop. The scissors are on standby. You actually don’t know how it will work out until you proceed to pierce the wool with the needle. The loop is not only to be reattached. You do want it to look pretty.
Writing is like that. And my life right now. I have no clue what I am doing, but the stiches are pulling something together. I am darning holes, picking up loose ends. The needle in my heart hurts. I hate needles, but I am brave that way.