Quilts hanging in the wind, finding ways back to yesteryear
Whispers of hearing my mama and then hers, come to me with every clothespin that hands up a freshly washed linen or quilt hung on the line. Memories flood back of their instruction…
Whispers of hearing my mama and then hers, come to me with every clothespin that hands up a freshly washed linen or quilt hung on the line. Memories flood back of their instruction…