When I stitched him on the left, he squirmed to the right, when I covered his bottom, his drooped his neck. I gave up and left him alone. Woody straightened his back, cast his eyes straight ahead. Then he wriggled to the fluttering birds and their song.
Took me a long time tightening his threads a few millimeters here and there when he wasn’t watching. I told him he needs a sturdy body to keep dancing, he says but he wants to be receptive. So here Woody is, strong and not hard, soft and not weak.