I would finally add colour to the scene!

I had retreated to my little room, having exhausted my patience in such futile yet, unfortunately, necessary tasks. Who knows whether our lives will one day be stripped of all the superstructures we are laden with, or whether we will adjust to further overload.

With this philosophical “question after lunch”, I had readjusted my pieces by unrolling the skein of DMC 347 and started to embroider in stem stitch the ribbons floating above the branches of the fir trees, falling into bows and swirls. I had embroidered with a single strand of muliné thread, because such a fine line is delicate and beautiful, and the contrast of colour gives us permission to do so.

By now I had become accustomed to the sweet warmth of the fireplace, and as soon as the transparency of the glass had become apparent, I was not surprised to see the new elements appear in the scene. Thin red ribbons, tied to the top of each fir tree, fell limply into the empty space, and then pushed onto the top of the nearest fir tree, in an adorable jumbled lattice. The author of the work had knotted the ribbons into large bows, the ends of which curled to the ground.

And small packages, covered with red paper and knotted with gold threads, sparkled in the daylight.

So many, small and precious, everywhere.

Needless to say, I wanted to dive into embroidering the packages!

I had decided, contrary to my original work, to give some volume to the packets and had therefore outlined each element with a backstitch. When I prepare the work in this way, I do a splitted back stitch, piercing the end of the previous stitch with the needle. In this way I obtain a more precise line.

I then worked a horizontal filling, executed with long throws inside the outline and then covered everything with vertical throws.

With one end of Diamant 3852 gold yarn, I cast on the horizontal and then vertical wrapping ribbons and finally added the daisy-stitched bows. The gold yarn is a bit dry and tends to spoil quickly, so I always cut very short threads.

Finally I had embroidered the ribbons in simple backstitch.

And when I had looked up at the scene, the door almost vibrated, inviting me out. I had my heavy clothing with me, and my gloves and hat and scarf, and I ran out into the soft snow. The day was beautiful and the children were playing squealing, dragging sledges and throwing snow in the air. We had finally managed to exchange a few words.

In my wanderings, from door to door, from path to path, I had finally come to a more secluded spot and a tinkling melody had roused my ear from the background noise. I had peeped through the branches, but the thick foliage obscured the singer’s view. I would have asked Mario to break out the binoculars to find the heroic author singing among the winter branches.

I had returned, my cheeks flushed with cold and the placid smile of someone who has swept away thoughts.