Homes of forests. Caves, hollows, tree trunks. A leaf, a flower. Places where the wind does not reach with its cold fingers. Some crochet their home and working place between branches, grass, rocks. Inside and apple, a mushroom. Under a stone, under moss. A heap of fir needles. In a puddle.
How did we learn to build homes with corners, angles.
A beautiful weekend of music and kind people. Sunday to read and walk. To search corners of this home for flour and salt and olive oil and this and that (meaning that only in the end I know what it became) and bake for the neighbors who come for a visit.
Warm thoughts to your Sunday.
(Small custom paintings from last summer.)