Ah, yes, here it is, the day when the colors disappear.

November to January, the hibernation months.

What’s the strategy this year, do I surrender, or fight?

In the morning I dress myself in layers of grey

as grim as the resonating clouds, then head

into the studio to choose…



This morning I put on the pants I printed

with green vines climbing up the legs, and

before I even finished my morning tea,

I was planting the sprouted garlic

in a pot and putting it on the windowsill.

Last night a serious friend made a

bawdy joke. The laughter…



Every time I ask myself how I’m doing,

I hear myself say to myself, I’m a mess.

And then I say back to myself, I’m not a mess,

really, I’m holding it together, doing okay

at this business of learning to live alone.

See, I put clothes on in the…



Sometimes the light

is what reminds me to trust

the day. Dye something

warm strong gold

and remember I wanted

to be here. Sometimes

the feel of the fabric on my skin

is enough to bring me back

to my heart

and soothe it open again.

Nothing is promised.




First winter storm of the season. I’m at the big window,

watching, even though the drama is happening

over in the east mountains. Here in the valley all we are seeing

is a delicate cold drizzle. I love this light. It clarifies.

Under the soft thick clouds there is less…



We were not particularly good to each other

at the end. I always dreamed that as we aged

we would move into serenity, smiling quietly

at each other as we shared our daily reports.

Turns out you wanted to keep running on adrenaline,

devouring the world and me with it…



Elisabeth Horst

Elisabeth Horst


I make my own clothes and write about the process. Among other things.