One of the curses of a migraine life is that it must be lived indoors, away from the light, in nearly complete silence.
The only joy of such a life is a focused expression. Whether it is writing or some other creation, the scope is narrowed and intense.
Think of a funnel. Pour a liquid in the broad end and forcing it to condense, collapse in order to exit a narrow port. Kinda sounds like giving birth, which I guess in a sense it is.
Writing is one joy, when I can retrieve the words from a reluctant brain that hurts intensely. Samuel and Adventures in the Sock Drawer are part of that joy.
|For Eli (still in progress)|
|Wall hanging for Erin (unfinished when photo was taken)|
Obviously, I have had many migraines.
But I have much joy.
P.S. There are other quilts, but could not locate my photos. Dang.