Posted June 13, 2016 The earth feels real. The smell of earth after rain, smells real. The cotton seeds go into the black dirt easily, and with care and hard work, the shrubby plant grows up healthily, changing from seed to plant. Picking the cotton is its own back breaking labor, hours bent over in the heat of the day. From the field the cotton goes to be changed on the spindles, spun into cord and strings. And again the cotton is changed via the hands on the loom, shuttling back and forth, weaving the weft, changing the cotton, creating the cloth that we wear to create our appearance. Hard at work hearing the voices of others talking of dragons and precious treasures, as if they were magical. But nothing is more magical than making. Listening to voices talking as they are walking, dressed in clothes that were grown from seeds in the ground. By a cotton farmer's dirty hands. Making something from nothing is the real reality, the real magic. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
