Last week’s posts featured the word calico.
Now I am thinking of gingham.
And I wrote this haiku poem:
Coffee and gingham
Take a sip, stitch a project… 57 more words
Summer of April is always better than the summer of May and the latter is always better than summer of June. Summer of July is worst, it burns the synthetic fabric which then melts and gets stuck to the vest and leave its colour there, like a stamp of authority, as if the vest belongs to the shirt, as if the shirt forgets who’s its master for a while in the heat of the sun. 1,229 more words