Birds in My Pockets
On a walk in a meadowland,
My feet warmed by sun-drenched sand,
I reveled in the golden rays.
Life’s troubles passed into a haze.
Gone was the need to understand.
I watched the dirt shift ‘round my toes,
Enjoying this new-found repose.
Then grasping a feather to admire,
I looked up to find an otherworldly choir:
A beautiful array of birds on a wire.
They weren’t the same species.
They weren’t all one flock.
As I regarded their feathered bodies,
They proceeded to gawk.
The birds warbled a serious of notes.
My soul followed suit.
Though I may not be a bird,
My heart knows their sweet salute.
I rose gently from the ground,
Climbing with every note.
Harmony and beauty unbound,
Prompting me to float.
My body I began to doff,
Captured by the majestic ballet.
Then, all at once the birds flew off.
I drifted away, away, away.
Finally, my eyes were opened.
Before me was my room, unkempt
What vision had unfolded?
What dream had I dreamt?
Longing to return to the air,
I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer.
But earthly flesh beat back the spirit,
And I’d soon forget the truth made bare.
So I stitched some birds in my pockets
To be always carried by their song.
I may not have wings to fly apace,
But I can use a quill with grace;
I can sing along.
Like the swimsuit that I posted earlier this week, I finished these shorts on the road. I hand stitched the hems and the buttonhole.
It is nearly impossible for me to go shopping at any store and find pants and shorts that fit. I’ve finally decided that it’s worth the time and effort to make my own shorts and trousers. Feeling comfortable and confident is important.
I used a pattern from Burda magazine (I can’t recall the pattern number, and I don’t have the magazine with me, but I think it was from June of 2010), which I altered heavily to accommodate my ample backside and legs. It took a long time before I was confident enough to cut out the material.
I’ve lost a bit of weight since I made the top, so I may take in the sides of the shirt just a tad.