A book I love was the easy part.
Moby Dick, or The Whale.
Picking a sentence was harder –
There are so many good and godly ones.
So I thumbed through and considered
Passages I had already underlined,
words that spoke loudly to me
when I first read them.
“The Loom of time”
So here is the poem.
With these hands I weave my own destiny.
The threads I twist and spin together form
The basis, whether cotton, wool, or silk,
For weaving every cloth and tapestry
That results. Color and texture inform
The ultimate Design. Repetition
And precision make the underlying
pattern strong. The crosswise stitch overlaps
to reinforce borders of interface
With new threads introduced. The surface fills
with dust for a moment – I blow it off
And continue. I reach a point where I
can see the end. I may undo a stitch
Here and there for a more complete outcome.
Then change the title.
Memories from Rope-Yarn Wednesdays