When I was very young I used to amuse myself by imagining that dawn was an artist who painted the sky a different colour each morning. Some days she mixed her paints too wet and the excess water would drip from her canvas onto the earth beneath. Sometimes in the summer she pasted vast swathes of the brightest blue as far as the eye could see. Sometimes she couldn’t seem to make up her mind at all.
You're welcome to pick your way through threads and stitches, but I'd be really grateful if you could be kind enough to refrain from pinning.