Our poinsettia is succumbing to gravity and everyone tells me they are difficult to care for. I still feel responsible for the fact that the only available window faces north.
After Thanksgiving break, everything became a blur and I wilted slowly. The new year imminent and so as a race, together, we reflect. For me, this means everything that unfolded after July. Easily I can find many things I have not done—I have completed one "piece" since moving. I've hardly kept a sketchbook, let alone a studio practice. I spend my evenings knit-knit-knitting and swallowing episode after episode of anything.
The question then becomes "what happened when?" But I've learned it doesn't have to end with what I've yet to do.
What happened when? I've been making a nest and preparing to take flight.