Waiting for the Spring

Last night, when I looked up and saw the moon through the bare branches of the trees, I was reminded of this embroidery.  The photo is part of a rug I made for a miniature house I found in an antique store sometime in the 1980s.  The resident of the house became Aunt Beulah, and she like luxurious textiles around her. This rug was for her living room, but when it was done, it was so vibrant the furniture simply disappeared in all the line and color on the floor.  She returned it to "N.Claiborne and Associates," the company she hired (because they were the cheapest) to make repairs on her house and to order furnishings for her.

I digress.

But last night, for some reason, I remembered that rug and the tangle of the trees and the moon against a grey wool flannel sky. . .

And when I was moving something today I came across this piece, from 2007.

It was made using my embellisher and dyed roving, with only the simplest of embroidery stitches to suggest the early spring.  The two embroideries, twenty years apart, express my feelings now of simply waiting for the spring to come.  Even if there is another roar of winter, I have seen daffodils pushing through to the sunlight, and Mary Kate, in New England has photographic proof of new, green grass under the semi-thawing snow, and Gail on the coast of South Carolina is enjoying the sun and her golf cart.  So, I'm waiting.