A Weaver

A Weaver

A field of cotton—a store house
for a Weaver with ‘prickled’ hands.

Yet, the piercing must
take place to bring
each tender cloud ‘puff’
to the spool.

Twisting, spinning, twirling—
a process…
now, a fine piece of
thread.

A loom AWAITS the
strand like a lover
its Beloved.

Joined—
a tapestry unfolding…
a garment to be adorned.

Another ‘piece’ of cotton
added, a different shade
blending into a _________!

Oh, ‘NO’
a tear—
a separation.

All this work—
Seasons of preparation—
Weeks of picking—
Hours preparing.

The Weaver
fashions a knot—
a beautiful, life-giving knot.

Like an umbilical cord
cut and tied,
‘something’ birthed into
this masterpiece.

To some eyes a flaw,
an imperfection.
Yet, to the Weaver—
Perfection.

Another strand
follows after another…

 

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