Yellow Ceramic Mug and Red Silk Scarf in a Red Buick

the back door and met me in my second-floor studio.

The room smelled of turpentine and linseed oil, the familiar scents of my working life as a textile artist.

My unfinished canvas of the Oak Creek valley sat on the heavy wooden easel, the green and blue pigments looking dull under the gray afternoon light.

Raymond paced near the window, his boots creaking continue reading …