Plucked I for my love's delight.
She would none of all my posies
There is a moment in the day of the brain that is a crack between worlds. It happens when you are first waking up. A moment when you are not quite all awake, not quite sleeping. It is a place where imagination and reality can blend.
It is one of these moments when I see the roses. Blue roses are impossible. Genetic analysis shows there is no possibility of a blue rose, though people are still trying. Yet I find them everywhere. They are are on clothing, dishes, pillowcases and jewelry. Various cultural meanings of the blue rose include impossible love, and royal blood.
I love all kinds of real but imaginary things like this, blue roses, unicorns and dragons. So in my mind's eye but with physical eyes still closed as I wake up, I see blue roses made of clouds.
What an amazing world of manifestation we live in today! I look on the interweb, and quickly find clouds and sky cloth, and order a piece of it for five dollars.
When it comes in the mail a few days later, again I look in the interweb, and find instructions on making cloth roses, and multiple designs and ideas.
I make my roses with five inch wide strips sewn into tubes, gathered on one side. There are many ways of forming the rose. Generally roll it more tightly in the center and fluff them out toward the outside.
Some techniques fold and twist to form individual petals, others just make a continuous spiral. I finished off the underside with a circle of iron on denim patch.
(A very special blue rose:)
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