comfort sings lullabies to the world.

she makes quilts. sewing in memories and scraps of fabric from your favorite clothes that no longer fit or are beyond repair.

comfort bakes cookies, her house always smells sweet,  she leaves them for teachers and firefighters and postal workers.

comfort adores her faded, worn jeans and her t-shirts that are so thin she needs to wear 3 of them so her bra won't show.

comfort loves everything soft, and a bit worn, and dislikes the stiff formality of new things. she appears aloof in first encounters, but on the forth meeting you have become the best of friend softly integrating into her world of the soft and familiar.

comfort cans fruits in the fall, make jam of black berries found in alleyways, bakes pies in  mason jars, and always has a crock pot of spaghetti sauce or veggie soup going.

she smells of cinnamon, and spices, and home.

comfort loves her hammock and lies in it often to restore her soul and sing her lullabies.

comfort loves to plant; flowers because they make others pause and smile and bees happy and trees for the birds and to add oxygen to our air. she is very concerned about having enough air to breathe.

comfort loves her pottery class because of the way the clay feels slipping between her fingers. she loves dance class because of the new ways she can find to let her body move and expand and breath. she loves curling up on the couch with her favorite movies under a quilt that holds time.

in her pockets and around her house are scattered quotes she has collected. if you ever loose your way, ask her for a quote or visit her home and allow a quote to find you. the perfect one always will.

there is nothing more perfect in this world than a hug from comfort.