Harvest Wheat Mandala

And we become brighter in our dying
And we turn golden as we fall

I enjoy finding my color palette for projects from walking outside in nature. I am fortunate to live across from a heavily treed park and at this time of year the possible colors for a project is dizzying! 

Today I took the dogs for a walk after having listened to the album Courting Autumnby Pamela Wyn Shannon. The album is one of the best tributes to the autumn season I have ever heard. Her songs rolled around in the chambers of my mind as I walked. The song titled "Tis Rambletide in Ambleside" which details the colors found in the autumn landscape seemed to be on a mental repeat. As I entered the park, my eyes fell upon the feast of colors at my feet and soon I was bending over picking up leaves, nuts, pine cones and grasses. At the end of my walk I looked at what I gathered and realized I had found the color palette for my next project. 

I returned to my studio and matched yarns to the found objects and began crocheting a mandala pattern that had caught my eye and called to me for the last couple of days. I am changing the colors from the original design, which originally was meant to depict spring. When I first found the pattern, I saw autumn and so I am making some creative changes. I am calling this project the Harvest Wheat Mandala. I am so pleased to begin working on this mandala as a meditation on the autumn season. 
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Tis rambletide in Ambleside 
by  Pamela Wyn Shannon
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​Tis rambletide in Ambleside 
Wind-twisted trees, the thorn of you 
The season's leaf is gold and red 
On lilting paths they fall to bed

And we become brighter in our dying
And we turn golden as we fall

Spindle berries split and show 
Sunset-colored seeds that glow 
The leaf fires scent the air with musk 
Shadowed spindle tree at dusk

And we become brighter in our dying
And we turn golden as we fall

Tis rambletide, so off I go
Through Ambleside, the path unknown
October fields of umber hue
Over rain-soaked rocks I quickly move

Can I walk through soft meadows and briars alike?
Can I move through with the thorn of you inside?

The knobbed and knotted arms I climb
To view the falling from up high In their
departure, I arrive With every leaf, a
floating sigh
​
And we become brighter in our dying
And we turn golden as we fall

Tis rambletide in Ambleside Wind-
twisted trees, the thorn of you The
season's leaf is gold and red On lilting
paths they fall to bed...

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