This white cloth. This image. These different fabrics. ALL had a mind of their own–came together unexpectedly and knew when enough was enough. So here she is. Many things. I no longer know the cloth’s name and that, too, is just fine. Because it contains just SO much.
And after working in the garden this morning, pulling over-wintered mulch aside to let the ground dry a bit, and to discourage the slug population, we opened the bottom of this gooseneck gourd. A gourd that comes from the southwest.
Every fall a church down the road gets in a huge shipment of pumpkins. I’m talking HUGE. Piles and piles of pumpkins and gourds that come in on a tractor trailer. The sight is overwhelming, hard to assimilate–fields and mounds of orange. Last year when we were picking out pumpkins for carving, I got into a conversation with the vendors. The pumpkins are shipped east, by the thousands. From the Navajo Reservation in NM. This gourd, too, was part of that shipment. I cannot say in words what this gourd represents for me. Something too deep to articulate. Another container. Holding cellular memories.
The seeds will soak for a few days and then enter the ground here. Continuing on.