Two days shy of a blue moon in June. I have no regrets and won't buckle but bend. It's those resistance moves that generate strength, it's the balance and waiting. The words twist and swirl in my world mean it all.

Have I mentioned sewing? A million tiny iridescent beads in loops and lines sewn to dark green crushed velvet, chandelier glass, gold bugles define the space.

Have I mentioned creation, the taking of substance and shaping and forming, clever quick fingers, sufferers of stabs and slices?

Have I mentioned the absence of thought, the clarity of focus on the needle's near invisible eye. No camel ever could slide through that. I've used all kinds of needles and best of all are nickel-plated steel but they wear brittle and often break in mid-stitch. Bad habit once found me pulling the needle through stiff fabric with my teeth until with a soft snap the needle notched a tiny groove in my front top tooth. I still shudder.