Boo's Basket

working on a basket made with pine needles i collected with my aunt boo last year, as she moved toward her death from dementia. we walked together along with her husband, ben, through long-leaf pine woods in florida. she saw me gathering the needles, and she joyfully began gathering them, too, though she didn't understand what i meant them for. at home that evening, toward the end of my visit with them, i invited her to help me take each needle out of the jumble of needles and lay them out straight, so they'd travel safely on the plane without getting broken. she sat beside me at their little kitchen table, and, though the disease had stripped her of her language, much of her reasoning, her memory, and the ability to simply work on most things competently, she understood what i was doing with the needles. we worked together, silently, while ben watched the news, her hands and mine taking turns as we slowly untangled the web of needles and, one by one, laid them in order.

boo passed over october of last year. finally, now, i'm weaving these needles together into our basket.