Yesterday on the flight up to Seattle I was happy to be quiet in my aisle seat stitching an embroidered heart on gray flannel for my May art show at Studio One in Big Sur that will include a wall of fiber hearts in thread and beads and ephemera. It was comforting to not be in a hurry, grateful the pilot was at the helm. Not so many days like that in the midst of my book tour. A flight attendance came by with her coworker and said, “Please show her what you’re doing.” So I did.
The woman in her smart uniform looked at my stitches, rushed to get her phone and returned to show me photos of over a dozen hearts she’s found in nature—ivy growing in the shape of an enormous heart along a building, pine needles the wind swept up into that form, heart shells, stones, and twigs. She said, “Just as I’m about to see a heart in nature—and I’ve seen a very lot of them—I hear a voice that tells me to look. When I do, somewhere nearby is a nature-made heart.”
Taking a walk near Seattle University before my first talk of the day at the curbside there were two tiny daisies pushing their bright faces up to the day. Nature and imagination do their damnedest to get through, oh, yes, they do!