The needles click. The wool runs through the fingers on my right hand. The ball of yarn tugs against my side like an insistent child pulling at its mother’s skirts.
The hypnotic rhythm of each stitch, each row — my hands weave a pattern unbidden like my mother’s before mine and my grandmother’s before hers.
An invitation to be in the moment
This morning we decided on a spontaneous trip to Baker Beach with our two-year-old son.
Our city by the bay is done with Summer. That summertime fog that we wake up to is no more.
Homeward bound after a month in the USA
One day-One Hour- One Minute- It will happen. It is inevitable. Except it already has.
Top 10 Things To Do In San Francisco
If you live in San Francisco, you know to avoid Eddy and Leavenworth Street... *stab*
Wrote this the day after the attacks in Paris but was reminded of it this morning when I read the news about the bombing in Turkey
In Search of Color