the smell of Dove

i've just spent part of last night and most of this morning (6am on) wet felting. last night as i did some dinner dishes, i squirted a little Dove for dishes on a plate, and realized how much i missed the feel of roving becoming felt. (i use Dove in the process.) Okay...the dish i was washing was actually from my dog's dinner. if you know me and my culinary abilities, you know that when my husband is out of town, it's pizza all the way. in fact last year on Halloween, my 1st trick-or-treaters were firemen. it was definately no treat. anyway, i laid out roving through the night, getting it just right, adding a little purple here, some brown, some red. i wanted to convey the feeling i had walking through my beloved fall woodspath. after many arduous hours spent elbow deep in cold, then hot soapy water, rolling and rolling and rolling the delicate fiber to make it strong and bonded, my efforts were rewarded. the fabric i created is tasty. i've left it outside to dry, hoping the smell of the woods, and my neighbors fireplace will lock into the fiber. my husband will be out of town for another night, so, i'm headed back to immerse my senses in the craft. felting is such an organic process....you can only tell the fiber what to do and hope it listens. it goes this way and that at will & whimsy sometimes, or so it seems. to think that you are recreating such an ancient art. to have actually "met" the sheep that provided it's wool to you is unexplainable. before i start, i ask my muse to help me, so as not to waste or disrespect what the sheep has provided. so different from metal. each fulfills a need within me to create, to express. the expression different with each medium. the music i play while creating with each, different. the story given by each piece created - different. so, back to it....hoping my floor dries before i'm found out, and that the wrinkles in my fingers fill in soon! L.