"The Quiltmaker"

My husband is retired from the local power company, Entergy. He has a friend, Larry, also retired. Both of them are great guys. Larry comes over once in a while to visit with Richard and me. We enjoy the visits. Larry also likes to visit the Nest to see what is going on....he's very interested in history, therefore quilting, and then, too, he sorta thinks I'm funny. These two guys laugh a lot and talk about the "good old days" at work and elsewhere. I enjoy hearing them tell of times gone by. Larry is somewhat younger than Richard, but still, they have some stories (and people) in common.

The other day, Larry called saying he wanted to 'bring me something." And, so he did. Usually, around here, when someone says that...they bring you some squash or tomatoes. Evidently Larry likes surprises because he brought a poem. Not just any poem, but one about a quiltmaker. He said he saw it and knew he was going to print it out and make something for me. I had no idea he knew how to do this kind of thing. Not wanting to give away his "recipe" I can only tell you that he printed the poem on resume' paper, boiled water, added tea (plus some secret ingredients), and soaked the resume' paper in it, then ironed it, making the poem look like a gorgeous page from an antique book. I was thrilled to death. So here's the poem:

THE QUILTMAKER
By Alma Edmonds

I saw in summer
A coverlet of meadow flung upon
A steep and rocky Ozark glade.
The earth was grays and greens,
A blend of growth, maturity, and death.
The theme was Chicory, Aegean thing,
A perfect rambling of purpled blue,
With blocks of Blackeyed Susan here and there,
And stenciled umbrels of Queen Anne's lace.
Embroidered clusters of Butterfly Weed
Enflamed the point at left, mid-distance,
Where rivulets converged and drained into the trees
Along a creek that whispered among stones.
A meadowlark flushed whistling from the flowers
And, flashing white, glided into the vault.
Now I will stitch a cover for my bed
Of blue and gold, puff-quilted white,
With French knots flaming on a fall of field.
A binding of green for the trees at creekside.
And, the wing curve of summer's sailing lark
To quicken my pulse in winter.

Isn't that wonderful! Not tomatoes and squash (delicious as they can be) but something that celebrates the thing I most love to do....stitch designs into fabric...which, in turn, quickens my pulse in winter. Thanks, Larry, you are a good friend! pat