When winter slithers in during late Autumn, I relish its arrival. Its sends me fast into the house to rest my gardener’s weariness. Shovels and hoes are cleaned and set aside for the new year. I set myself inside a fire-warmed house and dream of next years seedlings. I welcome the rest from the ever-calling landscape that surrounds my house.
But winter has rested outside my window for far too long. I am quite rested now and grow weary of this lifeless house. I grow weary of the whiteness that blankets my northern landscape. My heart longs for green buds and the sound of the birds that I know will wake me with the sun. I peer out the window’s sashes that enprison me inside. I watch the snowfall melt away and a picnic table appears on my lawn, once hidden in the snow, I see even its legs. Soon, even the tables feet will appear and soon after that I will see dark yellow straw-like grass, still sleeping its winter nap. But I know the secret. After the snow melts and shows the yellow grass so still, the sun of spring will come and waken it again to green. …and then out the door I go and back into the garden.
Triangles, squares, rectangles and really anything that falls from the scissors edge, our hands lift gently, lining up edges and place them beneath the presser foot. Our hands hold still as our foot takes over with its marriage of electrics and mechanics that stitch the fabric together. Seam done, our foot stops and our hands remove our new assembled cloth. Our eyes choose another piece, then hands, then foot, then hands again and the piece grows….it grows into something expected and unexpected, something we will take pride in and something that will teach us what will need to be better next time. 
I think I began to embrace color organization with more zest than I knew I had, Once outdoors, I was matching quilts to porch furniture and lawns.
