When I Grow Up

When I grow up I will be an artist. My woods will have things that make wonderful sounds in the wind. There will be assortments of strange objects, that anyone can use to create music. In the gardens will be assemblies of water-catchers, catching and holding and passing around water, allowing the water to speak. When the sun shines, I will have dangling objects which shine and sparkle and reflect. There will be banners of fabrics, painted or dyed or bejeweled, aging softly through the years. Stumps in the shade will have mosses and ferns growing from them, and vines of honeysuckle stretching, reaching, waving, until they can touch a branch, and continue beyond.

          I will get to work with beads and sequins and rainbows of fabric, and all the arts that I wanted to play with as a child, teenager, adult, mother. I will sew wonderous velvet appliques on my clothing. The piece of Nepalese mirrored embroidery that I have will become the yoke of a shirt with full sleeves pleated into cuffs decorated, perhaps, with more Nepalese embroidery. Or possibly something else. Metallic tracery of some sort.
          Right now, I am looking at a brooch shaped like a ladies garden hat, with a ribbon and a bow on it. It is done in silver and brass. I also have a brooch that is a silver and brass rose. Somehow, I envision an appliqued lady, wearing the hat, and having just picked the rose from her garden. No, the rose is too big for the hat. But an interesting earing almost looks like a circular garden basket to put the rose into. The rose and hat and basket work so well together, that I may just have to do it, and play with the perspective.