\nWord Count: 238<\/p>\n
This morning brings a menu of colors and mood. Sunshine is happy and yellow and silk. A breeze extrudes cobwebby ruffles that grace my neck like a wreath.<\/p>\n The sun asks if I\u2019m ready and I close my eyes and say yes. It turns my eyelids into a dance floor for an aquamarine floater that looks like a synapse going off in a nervous connection. I can make it go up and down or side to side<\/a> and just now, danced it around in a circle. Left to itself, it bounces and blinks. It rarely comes out to play unless called, lost in the nethermost focus.<\/p>\n My heart beats a steady flub-dub, flub-dub<\/em>, though I often pace it to hip-shake a salsa. Sometimes I beat African drums and when I\u2019m in pale blue chiffon, I\u2019ll hear a waltz in my heart.<\/p>\n Cool cotton in August, striped seersucker puckered like nipples. Warm cashmere wool in the cold winter soft as my hair. My lips are still rubied by a pomegranate I ate as a child.<\/p>\n I am what I\u2019ve taken in by ears, tongue, and mind. I am textures and taste<\/a> and song. In the whirlwind of self they are soup that I wear every day.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" CLOTHES MAKE THE WOMAN; THE WOMAN, HER CLOTHES Word Count: 238 I grow my clothes like layers of skin, of linen and cotton and the softest fine wool. I can weave what I want with the fiber that spools through … Continue reading ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/010.jpg\" "\\"010\\"")
<\/a>I grow my clothes like layers of skin, of linen and cotton and the softest fine wool. I can weave what I want with the fiber<\/a> that spools through my pores.<\/p>\n