The other day, these words popped into my head while I was untangling garden twine.I grabbed apen and thenearest seed packet to scratch out the words in case I forgot them.
*I want my kite strings tangled in your tree.
I’d read this phrase somewhere andthe words wove their way into my brain and lived there until I found something to do with them. Strings? Threads? Yarn? What could it mean?
Grandma taught me to crochet when I was about seven years old. My job was to unravel the skein of yarn and roll it into a ball while she followed the pattern, performed magic with the thread, and created works of art. I watched her swift movements with the needles and envied her experienced hands. Over and under and through and around. Intricate websof looped connectionsthat produced yards ofexquisite lace.
When she was tired of crocheting, she’d move…
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