Remnants
She tucks the tiny square of color into her rag bag. Nothing goes to waste.
She will sew it into a quilt, paste it in a collage, weave it into a rug, stuff it in the hole in a shoe. Maybe next season, the birds will want it to line their nests; you never know.
Pods and seeds fall to the bag’s bottom. Feathers, petals, leaves; they all go in.
Everything gets recycled. Her imagination will make it new, turn it into a miracle, a work of art.
She paws through the bag on long winter nights and dreams her dreams.
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