My tribe, the dear creative kindred spirits, bring me earthward and my discontent melts. Salad and green beans help me ground the pain of misunderstanding and sweet cider washes away the bitter taste of greed. All is not perfectly well, but much is better and I can breathe without the ragged breath of sobs overtaking me. Color has returned, the sweet green of the aged lock that guards my future. I am so over the coldness that overtook me on Saturday. I don’t need to fight petty obstacles that I can easily step over. I have things to do, roving to spin and fabric to weave. This is the way I usually feel after Rhinebeck. Stitches was just a wrong turn but I am back on my path and essentially unharmed. Thanks for your iron steadfastness and leafy vistas.