A stile is an arrangement to allow passage for creatures smarter than sheep and cows. Today I barely qualify, having left the wrong key when I dropped off my car for service. The stile photo is part of a collage about myself made a few years later while I was climbing over the fence of divorce, so '96 or '97. It hangs on the wall behind a door that's always open, so I'd forgotten the stile collage.
The collage is glued to a blueprint, appropriately. My engineer parents created my blueprint, and regularly inspected the construction site. It is in heavy-duty laminating done by Kinko's that cost a fortune. I hadn't asked the price, and was horrified to be spending the grocery money on laminating. The collage was to be a talking-piece at my session with the therapist, but now I would have the dragonfly encased in amber forever.
Thanks to Kathleen for the image and poem that provoked this meditation. Thanks, too, to my extrovert sister, the Nebraska 4-H Style Queen winner. What year was that?
© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder