|A recent quilt top I have made, which has nothing|
what so ever to do with anything.
I am going forth.
Not to slay dragons,
(except maybe the ones with in)
but to retrieve the dry cleaning.
Not to change the course of the nation,
(perhaps the course of my heart)
but to uncover the dining room table of borrowed objects.
Not to rescue fair maidens or princes,
(barely myself, these days)
but Clementine (our dog) from the hole in the fence.
These days of going forth are built of little tasks,
Just a drop.
A drop of the ocean*.
The ocean of the everyday.
(to borrow from Emily Dickinson)