I saw my quilt in the Birch tree. Not literally, but the colors and the feeling.
The birds were at it again this morning. They sit in the highest branches of the birch, apple, and maple trees, singing their songs. From where I stand, all I can see are small black silhouettes that look too similar. It’s their voices that distinguish them. Not that I can tell most birds by their call, but I can hear that there are many different calls.
I looked up when I heard them, and that’s when I saw it, when I felt it.
The topmost branches where the birds sat were spindly and red. And although the sky was overcast gray, behind the tree branches it glowed a pale blue. The thicker branches of the pealing Paper Brich were shades of warm white against the stark snow.
In that tree, with the shadowy birds, and sky peeking through, I saw all the colors in my quilt.
I don’t know if it was the light or the birdsong that allowed me to see so clearly. It makes me think that the Birch was my unconscious inspiration.
The farm animals are certainly there in the quilt, so why not the sky and trees too?