I have all sorts of intimate, extraordinary, eloquent thoughts but they simply don't translate to the written (or spoken) word. I don't have a way of knowing if it's a problem with my use of language or with human expression itself. It leaves me uneasy, uncertain as well as disappointed and gives me a feeling of incompleteness.
So I leave today a simple embroidery piece I just found at the bottom of a bag stuffed with embroidery odds and ends. This is sashiko style work done as finished embroidery rather than used as a dye technique; the fabric has first been dyed in indigo and then embroidered in heavy perle cotton (real Japanese sashiko is a technique of using these stitching patterns for resist dyeing). Apparently I worked this at some point last year. It's all wrinkled and tousled from sitting under an entire grocery bag full of floss, hoops, shisha mirrors, boxes, packages of even weave fabric, and so on. I don't have any idea what I'll do with it (I should add a border to it and sew it into a pillow, but that's not happening any time soon).