Gatekeeping or Making?

My computer sticker says


I want to be.

What does that mean,

in this machine?

Mo’s story,

in the library,

laid out in my notebook –

scratched down, cobbled together,

the only way I can do it.

Why write

so much?

Why knit

so much?


All the talking heads,

wherever they can be found,

in every




Have the answer.


and send funds.


But in making,

you craft yourself.

You dig your hand into that beautiful yarn basket.

And, you pull up a bright red Wensleydale.

You spin it.

Then, you knit it into your deep green sweater sleeve.


You write about the annoying mosquito,

buzzing around your head.

The one you can’t catch for anything.

The one that gets right next to your ear,

just as you are dozing off, and sends you

waving crazy around the room.


The self-appointed gatekeepers are confident that they know the destination. They are focused on it.

The makers want us to gain solace from accepting that we don’t.

To notice and grapple with what comes now, and now, and now.

I understand something about both opposing mindsets. I think they exist in all of us.

I’m choosing the makers now, and now, and now.

And so, I must make with the very things I want to ignore, the very things Iforestfeet wish were not there: the broken crayons, twigs, the aching knees, the wet newsprint, scraps of brown yarn. All of it.


Checking in

Passing days

Old age

Words in books

Knitted things

Stitches, one by one.

Trees calling,

When I fall into

the old, deep, rutted path.

“Come play!”

They say.