As you watch the leaves sway in the wind, you think about how nettles, if properly processed, can be spun into cordage, woven into fabric. How the leaves which reddened your arms after a childish misadventure must have kept someone warm, protected, someone you do not know, and never can. As you see the next fig, you think of this, how unpleasantness can be spun into safety.

I am a fiber artist