Editing Fibers

Oy! As Lynda would say. This upcoming Quill of the Heart post is giving me fits. The draft is currently around 1500 words, and though the numerous tangents are obvious, it's still missing certain fibers to complete the thread. And only just yesterday, I found a couple more sources from which to glean perspective, and a better focus of the matter behind the question I mean to pose. I am reminded that all things come in their proper time.

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While considering the subject matter for today's post here, my mind wandered to recent thoughts of shopping for and replacing my old carders. And there is was! What are carders you ask? And how could readying fibers for spinning have anything at all in common with writing?

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Organizing one's thoughts is a little like the preparation of wool into roving for the spinning of yarns. After washing, carding helps to remove any further impurities [i.e., sundry barnyard anomalies] from the raw fleece. It also combs out the tangles of the precious natural fibers. But in the end, the handspun yarn is only as good as the splices of roving.

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Communicating one's thoughts, the delivery of words—whether spoken or written— requires purposeful preparation. Editing, like carding, works to remove certain impurities and brings out the words best suited to task of relaying the echoes of one’s soul. For once an echo is set free, it can never again be caged.
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Hold on! Blue Jay is here, or-- [dashes (being a relative term these days) off to the window!]
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Okay, I'm back. I’m not always sure whether it’s the jay or a hawk out there. Especially when opening the door a few days back, to take out seed, I saw a small hawk fly into the pine, flutter about, and carry off a member of Clan Sparrow. I saw its little silhouette in the hawk's talons as the hawk flew across the street into the neighboring tree. It all happened so quick and I've yet to specifically indentify the species, but— I digress!
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Blue Jay found her way to my feeders recently, and dines daily among the squirrels, Clan Sparrow and the Mourning Doves. How apropos that she announced her arrival during the writing of this entry. Whether she comes to ensure I use my power properly, to remind me to embrace my talents and life to the fullest, or merely to partake of a seed or three, I welcome her as a royal guest.
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It's a cold, grey, and rainy day. And there's a nagging unfinished blog post that requires my attention; if I’m to see it to fruition. I've fibers to comb and roving to spin; thoughts to provoke and echoes to inspire.

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Blessings