When I was a child I would imagine a few crones, who have mastered the art of spinning the thread of life, weaving my tapestry.
As I grow, I have started to appreciate the things that put together
this picture that stays. Threads of happy summers, sad break-ups,
stubbed toes, unquenchable laughter, my tribe, rainstorms, learning new
things, heartache, hugs, the warmth of smiles, goods books, and good cries.
Some of the brilliant weaves shine so bright that it hurts to look at.
Other sections are dark enough that they find and take every breath I
have; consumed by the richness of color.
I try often weaving
parts of my own tapestry. I know that I have tried to reweave parts of
it as well. Today I find myself surrendering to the threads that I did
not place. The pieces of my picture and myself, which are a byproduct of
other things. Regardless of origin, these things are a part of me and
they make my picture.
I wonder how long it took the crones to become master at spinning this thread.
Love, Mimi
38/365 • I'm am grateful for being alive. #365daysofgratitude
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