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…
nice
Thank you for this ‘memory!