I have always loved my current weaving and design studio. A cozy separate building behind my house, it offers everything an artist could want, including a breathtaking view of the Texas hill country for inspiration. For 16 years I have gazed out the large windows to admire migratory birds feeding at my feeders and the seasonally changing landscape beyond our property. My family has been awestruck by the most amazing sunsets, as our house and my creative space face southwest. With the early morning mist and an ever-present breeze, our gentle alpaca graze slowly up the hill to their shelter, where a fresh hay breakfast awaits.
The other day we lost Edge, one of the older alpacas in our herd. I was stuck by how the other curious alpacas gathered near him and seemed to offer mute respectful reverence as he was taken away. Edge’s ashes will join those of several other creatures we have loved and lost over the years, in the special sacred place among the oak trees on our property. This April may be our family’s last annual shearing, and the herd will likely be re-homed after we sell the ranch in the coming months. Endings become new beginnings. More on that later.
Here’s something I am contemplating, and maybe you’ll consider as well:
The next time you sit at your loom, ponder the content of your warp.
Behind every cone and skein of yarn running through our fingers, we enjoy a diversity of fiber provided by many living, breathing creatures.
With each sweep of our shuttle, we are binding that diversity into unity.
When we do this as a community of weavers, not only do we extend the unity further, but also to those ancient ones who’ve come before us.
I will weave mindfully on this.