I've caught a whiff of Autumn the last few days. It's still warm, but there's an indefinable smell in the air, an almost intangible chill in the mornings, and I feel as if I'm unfurling and waking up. Like the sad garden around me, I am shaking the dry dust of summer off my Autumn raiment and I can smell moisture in the air, the promise of rain, that most potent green-maker. Soon, small tendrils with tiny golden new-leaf wings will be poking their heads out of the dry soil, the dried up stalks of summer's victims will give way to green growing things. And so I am optimistically pulling out my yarns and wools and making things to wear when the weather turns cold. I love wintery fashions so much more than summer ones; boots and scarves and hats and gloves and snuggly shawls, and bright coloured socks and stockings.
I've just started another project, and so my family room floor looks like a half constructed tent at the moment. Inspired by the magical textiles of Jude at Spirit Cloth, I'm attempting a larger textile piece, a sort of a mat come cloak if you like, because I enjoyed my small pieces so much. Well that's the plan, but at the moment it exists only in the fertile possibilities of a large untidy pile of fabric and textile scraps, and my mind of course.