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Unpicking

Some days I achieve little. Like yesterday. Spending hours on a piece of sewing not much bigger than Jane Austen two inches of ivory. I worried away at it, stitching and then unpicking. Over and again. I’m not good with working patterns, my brain is not a straight-line, counting sort of brain, it goes off on trails of other things. I finish work and weigh up the good or bad of it. At least I’ve learnt something. What is that exactly? How not to do something, perhaps? Or where to begin next time?

And today, my writing day, I know I need to change tack on my story. It’s not right. Shall I spend the day thinking and making notes when I long to just write and be led by it? I don’t know. I want the safety of knowing where I am or that the road I am in is the right one. But it is not to be, not yet. There is still groundwork to do. It will pay dividends, I hear a voice in my head say, his voice, if not his words. I think about work all the time, all those different strands who demand from me noisily when another is being attended to. So be it. Let is be as it is. And just be in the doing of it, whatever that doing is. Remember what he said, expect less, accept more. Wise man.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.