I had a dream last night that I was at a retreat center of some sort in the mountains, and I was telling people stories. I was perceived as older and my name was Weaving Woman. Such an odd dream.

For seventeen years I have been a full time herbalist with three bustling stores over the years, seven books, and a large following. Gradually, ever so slowly, I have gone from full time herbalist to full time weaver. I would fight it here and there, trying to recreate what I thought was my only identity. There are many herbalists out there now. I have taught hundreds of people. My daughters are herbalists. The world is in good hands. And so I throw the shuttle through and watch the colors and images unfold as stories come to life through my shawls.

I see patterns in everything. My work is completely inspired by nature. The patterns in the sky, the textures, the color combinations, the juxtaposition between land and sky and water and life. I take it all in and match it to yarn that gets luxuriously woven into a secret message.

I use my strong sixth sense, my intuition, to hear the stories to weave into the shawl. I can feel what the recipient needs, so I weave in prayers and intentions for peace, love, protection, healing, clarity, confidence, or whatever they need and write them a message to go with the shawl. Their story.

I love weaving with all my being. I am getting another loom to make more intricate patterns and a spinning wheel here soon. I am planning my dye garden. I am completely immersing myself into art this year and will see where I am being led. Down a path of sunsets and looms. How lovely.