When snow accumulates,
when outdoor chill sits
too heavy on my heart,
I turn to a warmth created
with a hook, a skein,
and my slightly frozen fingers.
Yarn over, knots made,
and after weeks, a blanket
begins thawing my body.
When flowers open wide
and colors take over each
branch and cloud,
I look for matching energy
in my paintbrush, placing hues
where there once were none.
My canvas bursts,
much like the gardens,
much like the noonday sun.
When heat beats down
on freckled shoulders, and
hours mindlessly melt into weeks,
my needle presses into fresh linen.
Each line of thread leans over
and over scenes of endless green,
textured sea, gracefully,
stitch by stitch by stitch.
When leaves take their last breath
and morning air crisps my face,
I reach for an unmarked notebook
to conjure unexpected thoughts.
Sipping cider and scribbling
by light of the early-sinking sun,
words flow, memories grow.
Seasons are made again.
Hey friends. Creativity and personal interests ebb and flow, much like the rest of life. You are still an artist, a reader, a baker, a runner, a hiker, a writer, even if you only do those things one season at a time. Claim it!
c. stephanie krist 2025 – please don’t steal my work, thanks
