Renée Owen

Bone Moon

Sitting at the oak table in a dimly lit room, surrounded by scissors, thread & sewing basket, I take in the twists and turns of recent days. Loved one after loved one falls, drops of blood from a needle prick on the white fabric of my life. In & out, in & out, I sew as if everything depends on it. As if my stitches might change the course of time.

dried hibiscus
steaming tea leaves
scent the dawn