eight laps of the pool.
or...almost one quarter of my grandmother's quilt top quilted.
the needle goes in and out, rocks gently on my finger, pulls through.
i think about her constantly, and how very badly i want to finish this before her time comes.
hand quilting is so slow, but for her i would do no less. it is also so incredibly beautiful, like her.
another episode of true blood lined up on the computer, a new spool of thread, another late night.
quilting is truly a labour of love.