December is a month to think about the handmade.
What sustains us when the rain pours and the sea swiftly rolls right into the rhythm of our world? Where can the mind wander when the hand creates?
The world all around us at time can seem frightfully modern. Lost is that touch, the human touch, it's imprint pounded into the metals that comprise our existence. We crave handmade sometimes, and yet all around us is the desire for new.
People use to think about their destiny and cull it from the very hearth of nature. They would travel from sunup resting at noon, and on again, until they had made their mark on the days passage. Little comfort was theirs but the luxuriousness of the nights star scape. They crafted what they could, when they could find it.
