The old quilt got to me, blown up onto the roof and frozen into a pile on the lawn. This time, I was more emotional about something that Maria, who has the sensitivity of an artist. She was quite cool about the old quilt, she said she would cut it up this week and use it in some of her other works.

For reasons I cannot even imagine, the quilt got to me. I thought it deserved more dignity and  recognition that to end up frozen on a rooftop and then chopped up. It bothered me to see it frozen and torn up out there. I could  hardly look at it, I urged Maria to bring it into the house quickly and not leave it out there in the wind.

I suggested putting it up on a wall, Maria shrugged. I asked if I could have a chunk of it, and she said maybe, she’d have to see. All of Maria’s fiber work comes from discarded fabric, so it is no big deal to her to chop up an old and tattered quilt and use it anew.

I like the idea very much, but I felt for the quilt. Maria was surprised, she said it was quite unlike me.

I brought it into the house frozen and put it in the bathtub. And then Maria hung it back out on the line where the quilt was blown away, and the next morning, we found that a fresh windstorm had blown it off the line again, but not all the way up onto the roof.

Maria took pity on the quilt and brought it inside to dry out by the wood stove. That made me feel better. Tonight, we talked about the quilt, and I asked when  was the quilt going to be chopped up or executed. Maria smiled and said she had a new idea for the quilt that would not involve chopping it up. She wouldn’t tell me what it was.

A reprieve, I said. No, she said, a  rebirth.